


Shadows in the Sky

by MaevenHall



Series: Somewhere in Between [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic (Dragon Age), F/M, Fade to Black, Mages and Templars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-07 20:33:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19857607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevenHall/pseuds/MaevenHall
Summary: Hiding in alienages all over Thedas, Falon learned to conceal her magic. Since long before falling in with the Inquisition, she's always fought off a secret fear of her own magic. Cullen is determined to help her past that fear, and she can't seem to push him away, templar or no. This is a romance that will take our couple through Trespasser and straight to the deep roads.I do not own Dragon Age or its elements in any way. This is a work of fiction for entertainment only. This is a repost from Fanfiction.net/Elvensister





	1. Chapter one

All characters and stories are the property of the original copyright holder of the Dragon Age series and are not mine. This is fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. 

The dwarf named Varric swore as his arrow landed shy of the target, a faded tonic bottle tossed in the air by the Iron Bull. They’d been taking bets most of the day as Falon carried herbals back and forth from the stables to the apothecary.   
She envied the group of adventurers as they’d traveled around Thedas correcting all that Corypheus the mad had done wrong. Falon envied them because they were not clanless as she was. She envied their good-natured ribbing, the good company they kept. She envied their usefulness.   
However, envy accomplished nothing, so more oft than not Falon simply wiped her thoughts of it, and focused on her studies in the mage tower. As a former elven apostate, Falon had asked for and received sanctuary among Skyhold’s rebel mages.   
“Andraste’s ass!” Varric shouted, missing yet another target as Bull’s booming laughter rang through the small courtyard. Falon smiled to herself as she hurried past. Perhaps if they abstained from the wares of the tavern, they’d have better luck at target practice.   
Hurrying up the steps with the crate of elf root and blood lotus in her arms, she turned right on the battlements but stopped abruptly at the sight before her. The Inquisition’s Commander stood like stone himself, strong, but somewhat forlorn and worn away.   
It would be so rude to rush by with no acknowledgment, but Falon did her best, her level best, to never attract the attention of the Templars, even the reformed ones here in Skyhold. “Good Afternoon, Commander,” she said to his back as she moved past him.   
He turned to smile at her. “Falon, good day to you.” It was clear she’d interrupted his thoughts.   
She apologized for doing so and prepared to hurry on her way. To which, he cleared his throat. “How are you settling into the tower?”  
Falon found herself compelled to clear her own for it didn’t want to work as she replied, “Very well, Commander. Well.”  
His thoughtful gaze returned. “Good,” he said softly walking closer to her where she still held her burden and taking it from her. “I would hope you would feel you could come to me. To any of us, should you need help of any kind. Above all else, we don’t want to repeat the mistakes of the chantry.”  
Sadness touched his eyes. “Oh, I know that. We all know that, Commander.”  
He shook his head with a small smile. “How many times must I say it? I do not command you. You must call me Cullen.”  
Falon felt that once again like a warm blanket on a cold night, that invitation to the family. She knew it could not be meant as such, but it felt that way. Perhaps, it had been how they found her wandering, hiding out, starving, but she’d been welcomed here. Truly welcomed in a way the circles never had.   
“I…I’m not sure I can, Ser.” She glanced up, seeing honest warmth in his smile. “I mean… you are the inquisitor’s right hand.”  
He clucked at her as he shifted the crate’s weight in his arms. “Don’t let Eliana hear you say that. She thinks it smacks too much of the Chantry.”  
Falon wrinkled her nose and pushed golden strands off her face blown there by the winds that touched the battlements constantly. “She knows it’s already common practice amongst the servants, doesn’t she? It’s just what they call you. You are her right, and Cassandra her left.” They began the short trek along the high walkway toward the tower where she paused at the steps.   
“Thank you, Ser,” she whispered feeling several sets of Templar's eyes on her as she insisted on taking back the crate.   
“Falon,” he said firmly, demanding her gaze meet his own. She dared a glance, seeing a mixture of pity and perhaps anger in them. Stern eyes fell on his guard, as he snapped at them both. “Is there a reason your attention wanders from your duty, Hall?”  
“No, Ser,” returned the guard smartly.   
Without lowering that voice, but only softening it, the commander looked down at her to repeat, “You have nothing to fear in these walls. You nor any mage. The past will be corrected, Falon. You have my word.”  
Heart stuttering, she ran for the large towering door behind which the mages of Skyhold worked and lived. She rushed through the inner hall where there were desks and books set aside for study, and into the apothecary’s suite of rooms. Cool and dry, herbs hung from every conceivable space in the dim light of the room where a fire burned most days to aid the drying.   
“Clemence, I have your cuttings.”  
He appeared on silent feet around the corner. “That is good, Falon. Will there be more tomorrow?”  
The mild monotone of the tranquil made her a little jumpy if she was honest, but she worked hard not to let Clemence know it. He might not feel anything at the slight, but she would feel the regret if she let that slight be known. Kindness was the one thing she had to give to those in the tower separated forever from their connection to the fade.   
They were amputees of the most difficult limb to forget, magic. As poorly as her magic worked, she didn’t know what she’d do without it. Having barely survived her harrowing, she had no desire to ever see the inside of the fade again.  
She nodded in response to the tranquil’s question.   
“Harrit says there are caravans from the south due in any day, so if not tomorrow, then the next. I will check in the afternoon again.” Falon started to walk away toward the hall and her supper, but she stopped a few steps shy of the door. “Clemence, what is your impression of Commander Rutherford?”  
“The commander?” He looked puzzled. “He is a Templar like any other. Why do you ask?”  
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He seems kinder somehow.”  
Clemence met her eyes so matter-of-factly. “They all seem kind enough until a mage is possessed. It is their place.”  
A chill crept its way into her bones despite the heat of the tower room. Clemence stated that so baldly that it struck Falon right in the chest with a meaty thump, much like an arrow quivered as it hit the mark, like one of Varric’s missed shots, had found her heart.   
Perhaps she was being too trusting, too naive. Perhaps, mages could never count on the kindness of Templars.  
*  
The next morning in the tower dawned crisp and cold, cold enough to don her vest and furs. Falon was part of a party that would ride partway down the mountain to a meadow where they could safely lob spells at dummies.   
Running behind, she rounded the corner to the stable yard and found the party readying horses. Astride his own impressive warhorse, there was Cullen, commander of Skyhold. Why would he be here? she wondered.  
He nodded her way once but continued his conversation with the guard captain.   
The Templars referred to this duty as Mage Patrol because their primary job was to make sure Skyhold’s rebel mages weren’t about to bring the mountain down with their practice sessions. Falon’s hand shook on the reins of her thankfully biddable horse. She was no great rider and a worse spell master. Though, spirit energy was her favorite, she struggled to make a good barrier of healing, protective energy. She struggled with everything in fact.   
They rode a very short way down a winding hilltop path, reaching the meadow and dismounting before the day had warmed much at all. It soon became very clear that the Templars would be involved in training today.   
Enchanter Torin began by calling them to circle. “Today, you will learn some fighting skill beyond your magic, hopefully, to incorporate with your magic.” ‘  
One of the Templar soldiers she didn’t really know brought forth a stack of staffs. She inhaled a deep, steadying breath. This was going to be brutal for her ego. Mainly, because she really cared what the commander thought of her. She wanted his respect, and she knew she would not win it with her fighting skill.   
She ran a hand over the staff pile when it was her turn, sensing the natural energy of a spirit staff, and called it to her hand. She caught it and took her place again in the circle, swearing she could feel eyes on her back.   
It was disconcerting to feel that much attention on her, especially if it was as she suspected from the guards. Elven magic was a little different from human magic, but the flavor never changed the outcome. “Commander Rutherford is here to see how much martial training each of you already has.”  
Cullen stepped forward and nodded to the enchanter. “Let’s begin with something simple; How much time have each of you spent in training?”  
They went around the circle with each mage answering until he got to her. Falon looked at her feet. “Falon?”   
He wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “I was a city elf for years, so I am largely self-taught. No fighting experience.” Cullen’s clear hawkish eyes fixed on her face as if he knew she held something back which she did. “I escaped the Kirkwall alienage before the uprising,” she lied. Unreadable emotions flitted over his face.  
“That was wiser than you know,” he said simply. “All right. How many of you can use a barrier to protect a squad?”  
None of them said yes.   
“Well, then,” he huffed into the warming air. “Falon, shall we?”  
Her eyes shot to his face. He must be joking.  
“What?”  
“I want you to use a barrier spell while I try and spank your backside with a practice sword. Trust me, after the first few licks you should get good at dodging.”  
Falon stood frozen and a bit speechless. Cullen gestured for her to step forward into the circle of students. She wanted to please him, that much was certain, but she’d also begun to resent this attention. She glanced around at the curious faces of the mages. They were wondering, too.   
She pulled her staff up to battle-ready. It was an apprentice’s staff, nothing of note. “Ser, I should warn you… elven magic is unlike the magic you have probably faced before.”  
Cullen gave her that charming smirk he seemed to reserve for the battlefield. She’d seen it as he drilled his men. So sure of himself, he was. “I’ve faced just about everything, recruit.”  
That did it. “I am not your recruit.” She was not with the inquisition to be one of its soldiers. Falon was done with the life that sent her out to die on the sword of the latest deluded Chevalier or Magister. She would quietly mix potions and heal, but she would not kill for Eliana Lavellan, no matter how much she wanted to please her commander.   
“That’s touched a nerve,” he said in that soft Ferelden accent.   
“Indeed, commander.” With that, Falon drew up a firm barrier glowing in energetic green light. Cullen smiled circling her.   
“Very good,” he said, then promptly began trying to batter her defenses. She concentrated. Her barriers could take on a bit of a bite if she tried, and she intended to try. He’d been manipulating her to some purpose. The very next strike against her shield wall had the desired result. She felt a fleeting sense of guilt as Cullen’s body went rigid with the storm magic shock she’d laced into her barrier.   
“You…,” he sputtered, then laughed. It was the first time she’d heard it. “What a trickster.”   
She waited for the eruption of temper, but it never came. Instead, he seemed proud of her, asking, “Can all elf mages do that?”  
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I spent all my time hiding from Templars, remember?”  
It was unworthy and she knew it, yet she said it anyway. Cullen stopped circling to meet her gaze. “Just so, Falon. Just so.”  
There was definite sadness and pity in his gaze as he stared at her a moment, then resumed facing off with her. Falon felt as though she stood on the Skyhold battlements looking down as if a stiff breeze would send her hurtling to the valley floor below. There was an expectation on the air, dancing between them like dust motes. He stepped close to her, whispering so low she doubted anyone could hear his words but her. “Punish me, then. Go on.”  
An ache grew in her chest. It felt like a thudding blow at first, then became ice cold and brittle. She’d been alone for what felt like centuries, though she’d only seen the change of twenty years behind her. “Have you seen the city alienages, Commander?”   
He nodded stepping back, raising his sword between them both. “I have.”  
“Sad and dank little places, all of them. I crawled my way through most of them from the time I was thirteen. Once some elder started to suspect my magic, I would have to abandon all again and run for the next one. Because city elves live only because they bowed to the circles, correct?”  
“That is correct.” He didn’t make excuses, and somehow that fed her growing rage. She threw more storm energy off as she circled with him in a dance as old as war. The others had moved away, she noted, clearing her line of fire. Cullen gestured, putting a hand out to one of the Templar soldiers. Wordlessly, the man brought the commander a shield.   
She hated him at that moment, hated that softness and patience in his blue eyes that reminded her so of the skies the mountain held high. She shocked him again, not enough to incapacitate. It was as if she couldn’t stop.   
“You’ve lost everything, haven’t you commander? During the blight?” Her words sang with cruelty.   
He nodded. “When we fled for the Reach. Yes.”  
She struck again. This time with fire that bounced off his quickly used shield. “Imagine doing that again and again and again, commander. Imagine that it was necessary in order to even breathe.”  
“I can’t,” he said. That simple sympathy was her undoing. She threw strike after strike which he reflected. This wasn’t normal for her. She normally could not bring up enough magic to make an offensive strike, yet here she was angrily lobbing fire and ice at the inquisition’s second in command.   
“How dare you.” She sobbed the words and flung them at him. “How dare you decide? How dare they?”   
Now, she spoke of the alienage, of the elders who would decide her fate among them. Her magic had always been something she must fear. It stole her life periodically. The job at the bookseller’s that she’d adored and had to leave. The family she’d lost track of in the blight. Home after home. Gone.   
She sent one last blast Cullen’s way. He emerged from behind a heated, shining shield. “Are you quite finished?”  
Appalled, Falon looked down at the staff in her hand. She stared at the hated thing.   
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I’m quite finished.”   
With that, she threw her staff down and ran. The crunch of snow beneath her slim leather boots was the only sound, that and the breaths she couldn’t catch. She ran until she had to collapse on a stone beneath a gnarled old tree.   
She could have killed him. She could have….  
Falon sat, her face in her hands for endless moments waiting for the beat of her heart to settle. The slow plod of horses hooves muffled in snow sounded behind her. She rose to keep going, to continue down the mountain and start over again, as she so often had.   
“You could run, Falon, but I’ll simply follow.”  
She swallowed back a gasp. Cullen. A spark of that anger returned.   
She turned to see him dismounting from his horse and patting its side casually. Though she noticed he watched her with the wary eye of a potential opponent still. She did have a question.  
“Why?” She heard her own betrayal in her voice. “Why would you?”  
“Because you can’t use a weapon you fear.” He walked toward her calmly. “Because Eliana and I agreed you were a danger to yourself if you didn’t learn to control your magic.”  
“I won’t be a weapon, Commander!” She turned from him shaking with fury and something else… something she had no name for. “But, I suppose I was deemed a threat to the inquisition. I will go.”  
He reached her side and turned her to look at him. “You will not go.”  
Falon looked up at him. “Why do you care?”  
“I don’t know,” he said. “Is that what you want to hear? Do you think I feel no guilt for the life you’ve led? For the part I played in circle life.”  
She backed away. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me, Cullen. You believe as they all do. Magic must be contained. I must be contained.” Emotion choked that last word. The constant tiring struggle of it. How many times had she considered asking to become tranquil? “I should be contained.”  
In an uncharacteristic display of passion, Cullen grabbed her arm and shook her slightly. “Stop it! Just stop. That is exactly why we decided I had to do this. You needed to be provoked to see your own control. Eliana is like you. She came from your world, or something like it. When she first came to me… I laughed at her. Thought she was being dramatic, but I see it now. In your eyes. You would lock yourself away in the cage of your own mind, wouldn’t you?”  
Falon closed her eyes as he shouted at her. “I would end this.”  
Now he asked her question. “Why?” Yet his contained such sorrow for her that she broke.   
“I still don’t know how I survived my harrowing. It was horrific.” She grimaced as the memories flew at her as they always did. “Fear demons. Crows’ wings hitting me in the face. Perhaps we’d left it too long. I wasn’t disciplined enough. I was too weak.”  
“Kirkwall.” He breathed. She pulled away from him, unable to shake him loose.   
“You were probably too high in command to notice a novice elf brought into the circle late in her life, imprisoned at first. I didn’t escape the alienage.”  
“You escaped the circle in the fighting.”  
She nodded. Tears tracking down her face. “At first, I hid. The abominations frightened me as I’ve never been frightened, but eventually, I grabbed a staff and fought my way to the pier. The Champion had already been there.”  
“I stowed away, and as people began fleeing the city. The boats took off one by one.” She clutched at his hands on her arm. “Let me go. You know now.”  
He didn’t let her go. He instead pulled her into his arms. “Falon. Falon Name unknown. Discovered in the Kirkwall alienage and suspected of blood magic. Your name had crossed my desk.” His hands ran over her, clutching her tightly. “Maker. You were to be questioned at Meredith’s request.”  
Falon fought half-heartedly this time. “Let me go, Cullen.” She pleaded with him to do more than remove his grip. “Let me go,” she begged. It felt like he was her only tether to the world.   
“Why do you have no name?” He pulled back to look at her tear-soaked face brushing those tears away. He wasn’t acting like a commander now. He was acting like a man.   
“I had no parents to speak of. The people of the alienages cared for me, but barely. Everyone was too hungry to take on another mouth. Usually, an elder would give me work, until I was old enough to become the chantry’s problem. They called the Templars. Then, I stayed on the run. The name was never important. I don’t even have a soul name, not really. It is only what I call myself.”  
“And what do you call yourself, then?”   
“Falon means prayer.”  
“To whom do you pray, Falon?”  
She stood there feeling weak and exhausted in Cullen’s strong arms, knowing he would see her differently when he knew she was accused of blood magic. She’d known his gaze would change when it looked on her once he knew her secret. She had never expected to be held, kept safe, or to collapse in his arms after the revelation.   
“No one,” she whispered. “I pray to no one.”  
After a time, snow began to fall on the mountain. Cullen bundled her before him in the saddle and pointed his horse back to Skyhold. It would appear she would not be running today, she thought as she fell asleep in his arms to the gentle sway of the animal’s stride. 

*  
A week had passed since the Commander had brought her back to Skyhold. She and Clemence had fallen back into their peaceful routine. Falon would fetch his herbal shipments arriving almost daily from all over the territories of Thedas, and they would work together to study the mixture of different formulas. They had, between them, already made a vast improvement in the basic lyrium potion required by the Templars.   
Her apron was now covered with the remnants of her last experiment with prophet’s laurel and blood lotus. Noxious fumes dissipated in the mixing room as Falon raced for the window and tore open the shutters. They were high enough to see nothing but sky beyond the window. She was removing her apron as someone cleared a throat behind her.   
Eliana Lavellan stood before her. She was dressed for the road, Falon noticed and covered in dust. She must have just arrived home. Falon had heard about the barefaced inquisitor, that she’d somehow given up her valleslin. It was an unusual sight to see an unmarked elf like herself, but Eliana wasn’t unmarked, was she?  
The story told around the fires in the halls was that she’d let her lover, Solas, take the mark of her people. Falon had never had people to give her a mark in the first place. She probably could have asked for one somewhere along the way, but the truth was that Falon felt a disconnection with those old Elven gods. They’d never meant much to her at all.   
She bowed her head, “Inquisitor.”  
“None of that now,” the Inquisitor said. “I think we both know you could scratch my eyes about now, and you’d have some reason. We meant the best. Don’t blame Cullen.”  
“Don’t blame Cullen?” This was the revelation the Inquisitor had come to share. Don’t blame Cullen?  
“Who should I blame then? He knew I had no control. He knew I could have killed him.”  
“That is not what I’ve heard.” The Inquisitor joined her hands behind her back and paced away from Falon. “Cullen tells me you hit every mark you aimed at.” She smiled over her shoulder. “I’d have paid to see that.”  
“Inquisitor, you are one of us. You know how vulnerable we are to darker thoughts. You know, as Cullen never could, how accuracy is not necessarily strength. If I were only a warrior, that would be true, but I’m a mage with a mage’s weakness.”  
“Do you use blood magic?”  
At the demand, Falon stood her ground. “No, nor have I ever. Not even in desperation.”  
“Why do you fear possession then?” She turned back to Falon. “More than the average mage, I mean. You are terrified of it. I can see you shaking from here.”  
“Did Cullen not tell you?”   
“He told me you fear your harrowing.” Stepping closer, the Inquisitor explained, “Falon, that isn’t anything new. We all hated our harrowing. We all barely survived, and anyone who says differently is lying. What happened to you?”  
“I was nearly out,” she began. “I was nearly free. Something, some demon caught hold of me. It whispered things, told me what I could have.”  
“You listened,” Lavellan said with certainty. “What did it offer you?”  
Falon, for a moment, couldn’t respond to the other woman, so lost in the horror of that memory she was. “Safety, home. He offered me family.”  
Lavellan huffed softly as she released a breath she’d been holding. “So, he offered you that, and you left him in the fade to fend for himself. Why? It’s clear that’s what you want… badly.”  
“I suppose because I don’t believe in those things anymore, Inquisitor.”  
Smiling at her, Eliana replied, “I have a feeling that’s about to change. Report to Commander Rutherford, please. The Exalted Council has been called, and you will be coming with us.”  
Shock flooded her veins. She nearly shouted. “But, why would you need me?”   
“The Commander has delayed too long in choosing an assistant, and that assistant need not be military. In fact, there are some benefits to having a civilian mage in that position.”  
“I’m so confused,” she whispered. “What will I have to do, Inquisitor?”  
“My right hand protects the Inquisition. You will protect my right hand, Falon. Anything else is secondary.”  
With that, the Inquisitor was gone. Falon sat heavily in the chair at the table.   
The Winter Palace. Dear, Sweet Andraste.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These events happen alongside Trespasser DLC. So spoilers.

The Winter Palace towered above their whole entourage. The Inquisitor had left with the Ambassador to meet with the council an hour before, and Falon had been left with the unfamiliar duty of arranging quarters for the Inquisition’s Commander. She’d just finished having his things brought up and began putting them all away. Intelligence from the new spy master had arrived by attache shortly after they arrived. Charter was nothing if not thorough.   
Falon had secured the information in a vault left for Cullen’s use when she heard a throat clear behind her. “Do you still hate me?”  
She sighed. “I don’t hate you, Ser. I don’t understand you.”  
“It’s simple enough to understand if you let yourself,” he returned cryptically.   
Falon gathered her thoughts. “I have never assisted in this way before. However, Ambassador Montiyet has given me some pointers. Your supper will be delivered in approximately a half hour. After which, we are expected to attend an after dinner gathering among the lesser nobles of Orlais.”  
“I am unavailable.” The pout on Cullen’s face was just as Leliana had predicted.   
“I’ve been ordered to have you there. Something about the Game and a few other things I didn’t listen to. The short of it is that we are expected, and you are a dignitary now. Therefore, you must be dignified.”  
Cullen continued to brood, clearly unhappy. “Are you coming?”  
“I have been told to be there, Commander. We are not to eat or drink anything until given the all clear.”  
“Marvelous,” he groused making Falon laugh. He turned his crooked smile her way and beamed. “That makes it worth it.”  
“What?”  
“Hearing you laugh for a change, Falon. I’ve nearly died for Thedas and Andraste more times than I can count, but, for you, I’d walk into an Orlesian vipers nest. That should leave an impression on you.”   
She couldn’t help it. She laughed again.   
“Yes, well,” she said. “Your quarters are through that door.” She nodded at the inner door of the lavish apartments assigned to him. “Your formal uniform is out and waiting. I will be in a room just on the other side of the hall should you have need of me in an emergency.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes. “Of course, I’ll have need of you. This is the Winter Palace. There is no chance of this going smoothly.”  
She smiled again. “Very well. I’ll pick you up when it’s time to attend the soiree. Ambassador Montilyet will meet us there.”  
“Of course, she will. Josephine loves this insanity.”   
*  
Unused to crinoline and lace, Falon worked hard to appear comfortable in the ornate Orlesian gown sent to her by the Ambassador. It was a shining lavender hue and far more ornate than necessary, she believed. She was an assistant to the Commander. Why must she appear like more than a servant? And, she was an elf besides.   
Orlais didn’t enjoy having elves foisted upon them, especially servants.   
Knowing this, she did her best to arrange her auburn hair over her pointed ears. She thoroughly detested the feel of the silver half mask she’d been handed with the dress, but it further disguised her origins.   
She stared in the mirror at the woman pictured there. Her hand slid down the gossamer bodice that clung like second skin to her slight frame. Her skin didn’t look typically Elven, but rather glowed like honey. She would be able to hide in Orlais at least. What were they thinking placing an elf - an untrained elf- on his staff? She was in fact his entire staff. Nervously, she opened her bedroom door and knocked on his door across the hall. He came to the door shrugging into the red and blue coat of his uniform, but he stopped mid-shrug to stare at her.   
“Falon,” he said softly. “Maker’s breath. You are beautiful.”  
She laughed at his stunned expression. “This is my uniform.” Walking past him into the room, she demanded, “Where’s your sash?”  
“My…? It’s there on the bed.” It was indeed on the massive, luxuriously pillow strewn bed. She picked it up, then turned to him holding it before her.   
“Well, button up your coat.” He did as she told him appearing flummoxed still. She maneuvered the sash into place and pinned it. “There now. You look dashing as a prince. Josephine wants us to arrive fashionably late. Did you get your supper?”  
He nodded, but continued to say nothing. “Good.” Falon began to fuss with his collar. “Remember, you are to eat or drink nothing until I tell you that it’s safe. Charter has a man on us.”  
“The point of tonight,” she went on. “As it has been explained to me, is to see and be seen. We will refer all approaches for trade or alliance to a later time. Josie says I’m to stay with you constantly, and let you speak as little as possible.”  
He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. “Look how well I’m doing! Are you ready?”  
He nodded, and Falon offered him her arm.   
“This is going to be a long night,” he moaned. 

*

Josephine shone like a brilliant star in the elegant, yet small, gathering. Madame Le Fer was in glimmering attendance as well, and Falon was more than willing to let them handle the most gregarious of the nobles. She did as instructed and stuck close to a very taciturn Commander for the evening.   
She’d studied the crowd and the finery for a few minutes, then turned to find that Cullen had already been engaged by two giggling matrons and their daughters. They’d agreed that her official title would remain unknown in Orlais. Here she could for the moment be called something else. The Ambassador had taken to introducing her as personal adviser to the inquisitor, Lady Falon. She’d almost choked the first time Josie had said it.   
She pulled closer to Cullen, and gave him a blinding smile. “Who are our new friends, Commander?”  
Cullen took the cue very well, and introduced her briefly to the matrons who in turn introduced their daughters. “Commander, may we reserve dances for you when you can tear yourself away from your companion?”  
The last word was said with utter disdain, but within all the boundaries of propriety, of course.   
To her surprise, she felt Cullen’s hand slip around her waist to rest at the small of her back as he smiled broadly. “I fear, Lady Salvasse, I am a very poor dancer, and the likelihood of tearing myself away from this creature is low indeed. But, darling,” he went on murmuring to Falon. “Naughty thing. You didn’t mention the dancing.”  
With a low warning growl, she said sternly, “Darling, I knew you wouldn’t come if I did. I’m sorry, ladies. He’s such a child about dancing. You know how men are.” They politely agreed, but it was clear they weren’t happy with this turn of events as they tittered away toward the hostess.   
She leaned into Cullen’s side because what choice did she have now? “I cannot believe you! Do you know how dangerous this is?”  
Clenching his teeth, Cullen whispered into her ear, “Let’s get some air.”  
She smiled at him politely and nodded. They slipped out to the nearest marbled terrace. Falon marched straight to the railing farthest from the doors. She stood stiffly waiting for him to get close enough to give him a piece of her mind. Cullen, however, it appeared wasn’t done losing his own.   
He walked up behind her, and nestled her tightly against him wrapping his arms around her. It had to be subterfuge, she told herself. He was simply trying to keep the conversation private.   
She turned her head to snap. “What happens when it comes out you just claimed an elf as a lover in the Orlesian court?” Shaking head to toe, Falon seethed at the risk he just took for his own comfort. “Josie is going to kill me.”  
“Josephine is going to stay out of this,” he growled into her hair. “Maker, the way you smell…” His lips brushed her temple, and Falon closed her eyes. It was a part… It had to be.   
“Are you finished, Falon?” He mouthed his way over her jaw. “Is it my turn to talk?”  
“You are supposed to be absolutely silent this evening.” Falon had turned on her sternest mothering tone. It worked with the youngest of the mages. Surely it would work on a childish Commander of men. She felt him shake his head against her.   
“I won’t. Eliana has been encouraging me to start saying how I feel for a change.”  
“The Inquisitor didn’t mean to start a court scandal at a time when she needs all the goodwill she can accrue.”   
“In this case, she did.” Cullen ran his hands along her arms. “In this case, I’m entirely following orders. Cullen- she said to me after a drink or two at the tavern- Cullen tell her you love her or you’ll regret it.”  
Falon’s breath caught in her chest. He can’t mean her. That’s impossible.   
She must have said that out loud.   
“Impossible why? Because you’re an elf?”  
“Because you’re important and I'm dangerous.” She breathed in sharply as she said it out loud. “I am the last woman you should ever look at. I’m not the Inquisitor, Cullen. No one is going to respect your choice.”  
“I don’t need anyone’s approval but yours. Do you…?” He stumbled to a stop, holding her tighter.   
“I can’t, Cullen.” She felt tears blur her vision. “I can’t ruin you.”  
An Elven servant peeked around the doorway. “Lady Falon, I’ve been asked to deliver a message to you.” Falon took the small square of paper with thanks. It was Charter’s quick script.   
After the servant left, she met Cullen’s gaze. “You have somewhere you have to be, but no one must think anything is wrong.”  
Cullen growled. “I take that to mean something is. What did I say? What always happens in Orlais?”  
She pulled his arm bringing him in with her to the ballroom. Once they were close enough to the entrance, and enough of the other guests were aware, Falon did the only thing she could think of; she fainted, or pretended to.   
Cullen’s strong arms caught her up in a graceful performance. “Josephine,” he called with just the right amount of fear and concern in his voice. She vaguely heard her friend: “Go. See to her.”  
It would be the talk of the court tomorrow, but it worked as his long legs ate up the distance to his own chambers. She kept up the appearance of frailty until he put her down. “Falon, talk to me.”   
Popping her eyes open, she said, “Very good, Ser. Now, the Inquisitor needs to talk to you in the antechamber.”  
“What?” He asked in a dark tone.   
Cullen seemed more than a little bit upset with her.   
“I had to give you an excuse to leave the party for the evening. This is bad, Cullen. Eli needs you.”   
With a frustrated sound, he tugged on her hair pulling her face to his. He kissed her hard. “You infuriating woman!”  
He stormed into the antechamber to meet with the Inquisitor as Falon lay half-reclining on his mattress wondering if she’d lost her mind too. As much as she shouldn’t, she wanted him to kiss her properly. She wouldn’t be able to return to her own room for the evening as she was the excuse for his absence. At least, not until he’d down what needed done.   
Charter’s note had told them nothing.   
Falon went to his desk in the outer office and began her work for tomorrow. He had a full itinerary of meetings and events. Some of them may need to be canceled or moved. She’d also wanted to make sure he took some time to see the sights and rest. Cullen worked entirely too hard. 

*

The fire had burned to ash in the time she’d been asleep in the chair before it. Falon raised up to look around the room. He sat in the opposite chair. “How long have you been there?”  
“Long enough to know you snore.” His tone was serious, far too serious for the joke he’d made.   
“Cullen, what’s wrong?”  
“There is a dead Qunari in the apothecary’s shop, and Eliana is tracking the scouting party into an eluvian.”  
“Mythal and the gods, what do we do?”  
“We pretend nothing is happening. We go on as we were. She’ll come back with the truth. She has Bull, Varric and Blackwall with her.”   
That wasn’t all. “I meant what was wrong with you, Cullen.”  
“I find myself at loose ends, I think.” She noticed he had a drink in his hand in the dark. He’d stripped off his jacket and wore shirtsleeves, rumpled ones and breeches. His boots were beside the chair, and the room was dark save for a few candles.   
She was no fool. “Because of what happened earlier?”  
He nodded once then took a drink from his glass. He met her eyes. “I’m calculating my odds, and they look very bad indeed.”  
“What does that mean?”  
“I’m human and a Templar, or was a Templar. The people who made you flee your home multiple times. The ones who imprisoned you, forced you to a harrowing that I believe you probably didn’t want. I, in point of fact, commanded those same people.” He laughed bitterly into his glass. “How could you ever look at me?”  
Gathering her dress in her hand, she stood walking toward him. “You are not those people, Cullen. That’s never been my objection. It will never be.”  
“You were imprisoned by demons and blood mages. You were tortured. How could you ever look at me?” she asked him.   
Intensity in his gaze, he met her gaze and said solemnly, “You are not them.” He put vehemence behind the words.   
“Will you believe me if I tell you that you’re too good for me?” Falon asked him wryly.   
“I’m not sure how sober I am, so you’ll need to be clearer. What are you saying?”  
“You need more, Cullen.”  
He pulled her skirt, and she came slowly lowering herself into his lap. “I need you,” he said softly.   
Falon placed a hand along his cheek. He needed a shave, but she loved the rough feel of his face. She loved far more than that. She thought him the best man in the world, the kindest, the bravest. “I shouldn’t. Ar lath ma.”  
This time, when he kissed her, he took his time. Falon found herself drowning in his taste and the feel of him against her lips. He pulled away grasping her chin. “Promise me. Promise you’re done running. I will always protect you. You know that?”  
Her heart pounded in her chest, but she had already decided that this was it. She would make her stand here with the Inquisition, so she nodded. “I promise. No running.”   
He kissed her fiercely. “Stay with me,” he murmured against her lips.   
She did. 

*

The next morning the party hadn’t returned. Cullen had already taken steps to secure the eluvian and put a guard on it, so Falon turned her attention to the day. It was the only task she could attend to at all, and it was important that all seem as it should be. With Josephine’s coaching, she could see to that.   
Cullen emerged from his bedroom to find her already at work behind his desk. “You have an appointment in an hour to watch the morning drills of the Orlesian Guard, and then I thought we could take a break.” She looked up to see an annoyed Commander staring at her. His shirt unbuttoned as well as his breeches, he leaned against the door looking at her as if she’d been extremely naughty.   
“What did I do?”  
“You couldn’t start the day with a kiss at least? Are we right back to the way things were?”  
She blushed. The night had been such a revelation that going back was quite out of the question. “I’m… sorry. I just… This is how I cope with things I don’t fully understand. I work.”  
He hummed ominously. “And what is it you don’t understand?”  
“That’s easy,” she whispered. “What I am to you now. I don’t know what I am to you after… last night.”  
He slid his backside on the corner of his desk forcing her to look up at him. “That’s easy, too. You’re my life, Falon. I’ve cared for you a lot longer than you knew.”  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”  
He traced a stray curl out of her bun, then toyed with her ear making her stomach do flips. “I didn’t think I stood a chance, darling. You are a mage. Just because I’m over that difference didn’t mean you would be. I’m terribly happy that you are, though. Did I mention that?”  
She smiled against his hand on her mouth. “I believe that came up in the night.”  
“Before you bombard me with the days’ schedule, has Charter cleared my breakfast? I’m starving.”

*

The sun gleamed off the white granite of the buildings in the city as she and Cullen wandered shop to shop. Falon would never understand these Orlesian women and their culture of masks. The one she wore now barely let her breathe in the heat of the sun. She had located a hunter green mask made of light linen and purchased it a while before.   
They were sitting beside a fountain when Cullen looked past her and smiled. “Good boy. Who’s a good boy?” She watched him get up and she turned to see what had him acting so maniacal. “Oh, sweet Mythal, Cullen. Be careful.”   
The Mabari flashed massive canine teeth, and slobbered profusely as Cullen rubbed it behind his ears. “Where on earth could you have come from, boy?”  
Cullen appeared to look around. “Darling, could you ask at the tavern for a bowl of water and a rope if they can spare it?” Captivated by his offhand darling, she’d have done just about anything he wanted, so she wandered in to find Krem at the bar, so she asked him.   
Krem laughed at her request. “I’m sure I can do the water. I’ll send Dalish for some rope. The shop is right near here.”  
“Thank you, Krem. I’m so grateful.”  
“Sure. Anything for the Commander’s girl.”  
She stopped turning to look back at him. “How did you know?”  
“We’ve all known for a while,” Krem laughed. “Here’s a tip that will come in handy in the future. Your Commander cannot hold his liquor, especially the Qunari stuff. He talks about nothing but you when he’s wrecked. The Inquisitor determined last time that it was time to do something about you two.”  
“She did?”  
Krem nodded. A beautiful elven woman walked through the door. “Dalish, can you run for a length of rope for the Commander?”  
The woman rolled her eyes, but she turned and left again. “Are you sure it’s no trouble, Krem?”  
“Not a bit, Mistress Falon. I’ll go get your water.” Krem even carried it out to her to see the Mabari.   
Dalish approached soon enough with the rope. “This is for the dog?”  
Falon nodded uncertainly. “Dalish, I’m not sure that I’m not already being replaced.”  
She looked at the two humans making funny faces at the Mabari. “Humans,” she growled. “I will never understand them. Would you like a drink?”  
Falon looked back at the boys and their new dog. “I think so,” she said. “We might be here a while.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also in the events of Trespassers. Spoilers ahead.

Charter’s messenger stood at the door. “Lady, the party has returned. The Commander wanted me to inform you, and ask you to remain nearby. Just until he can join you.”  
“How long will he be?”  
“They did not say how long.”  
“Very well,” she replied. She closed the door and looked around wondering what she could possibly do to kill the time. Her mind ran over and over what they’d found. The dead Qunari could quite possibly disrupt everything. Falon prepared responses to several invitations and cleared the morning tomorrow of all but the most necessary obligations.   
Curling up in the chair, she looked at the Mabari where he snoozed before the fire. She’d turned sideways, swinging her skirted legs over the chair arm with her book in hand. Her boots hung down nearly to the floor. Falon read until she fell asleep and woke with the creature resting its heavy head in her lap as she stroked his head absently  
Sitting upright to stretch, she spoke to the Mabari. “You’ll need a name if this is to continue, you know.” He stretched and yawned the massive maw he used for a mouth. Falon laughed at the monster. Only the soft hearted Commander could find such a creature easy to love.   
The fire had nearly burned down, so she swiped the air, and used a spell to stoke it. He hadn’t returned in the night, she realized sleepily. She would go in search of food for his return. That would help her stay awake. Throwing on a shawl, she stepped out of the room to find an Inquisition guard on the door.   
“Pardon, miss. Been ordered by the Commander keep watch on things.”  
It made sense. They should watch the room. She thanked the guard and pulled her shawl tighter against the night chill. The guard followed her a few steps. “Pardon, miss. I’m sorry again, but my orders was to watch over you.”  
“The Commander assigned me a guard?” She said the words almost incredulously. “Where is he now, soldier?”  
“Yes, miss. He’s in with the honor guard this moment, miss.”  
“Thank you. Where is that?”  
Now the soldier oozed dread. “Oh, that’s in the south barracks, madame. No need to go there less you needs to.”  
“I need to,” she insisted. It was an entirely selfish desire to see him and know he was safe. Things must be bad if he’s assigning guards to staff.   
The lovely guard who she continued to have a very pleasant, if anxious, conversation with was Officer Pecks. He’d volunteered to pull another shift to cover extra security this evening. “Everyone is sayin’ something is amiss”   
“I’m sure it’s not serious, Pecks. Probably just a security issue.”  
“We thinks it’s spies, miss, me and the boys. You know how things fall in Orlais. It’s always spies.” She laughed at the man’s impeccable logic. He wasn’t really wrong, was he?  
They crossed a dim courtyard and approached a large brick built structure of clearly utilitarian design adjacent the palace. The South Barracks, she assumed.   
The soldier led her inside and through a large dining hall, past an impressive armory and down a hall to the left. Inside, the room was crowded with officers with Cullen at their center. “I want constant guard rotations on any and all inquisition facilities during our stay. I don’t care what the Palace watch thinks we will be doing our own hourly patrols of sensitive or vulnerable points of entry. Markham, you and your men will be in charge of security for the eluvian. That point of entry must be well guarded at all times. We can’t know if our enemy will strike that way, but they will eventually use it if they can. Maker knows, I would. Do what you have to to keep that room secure.”   
A lanky officer in formal uniform saluted and said, “Yes, Commander.”  
Falon stepped out of the way, moving into the shadows of the room. The Commander was speaking after all, and he was glorious to watch. Power and integrity behind each word. Golden curls and stern, serious eyes. This was the part where she over-thought last night. He was a man in the center of important, world shaking events, and she could claim to be nothing more than an escaped apostate dressed as fine as a lady of the manor. Yet, she knew her worth in the grand scheme of things.   
Should she die not one of her people would know, nor care. The friends she had made among the inquisition would drink a cup in her memory, and they would say goodbye. She would, however, be entirely forgotten by all but possibly this one great man. As she listened to Cullen organize his men, she determined to be more, to help him as she could. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be something.   
The meeting of officers had become much less formal as her mind had wandered, and the men casually joked with each other. Underneath the ribbing, she saw that it covered tension. The soldiers were worried. Men began milling toward the door where she remained in the shadows.   
Cullen caught sight of her behind the broad wall of uniformed soldiers leaving, and he held her gaze intently. She became aware of each step he made toward her in the room. Their eyes never left each other as he approached the guard she’d dragged with her from the guest quarters and said, “You are relieved, Peck. I’ll see the lady back.”  
With a sharp salute and knowing smile, Peck answered, “Yes, Ser.”  
As the door closed behind the final officer, Cullen pulled her into his arms roughly. “I missed you so much.”  
His face buried in her neck, she let her hands slide over the mantle of his jacket, his nape, his hair. “I could say the same. What’s happened?”  
He breathed, “It never ends, Falon. We have yet another enemy. That’s all we know at the moment. Eliana is investigating.”  
She pulled away. “How can I help you?” His slow, soft smile spread sunshine through her entire being.   
“The fact that you’re here and you asked is enough.”  
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. Let me help. I know I don’t have much to offer, Cullen, but let me do something. Please.”  
He pulled away slightly. “What do you mean ‘don’t have much’?”  
“I’m not like you or your friends. I’m no soldier, but there has to be something I can do.”  
“Falon, you’re doing it. Did you think I hadn’t noticed how you’ve kept the nobles of Orlais at bay so that I can do my job? Trust me,” he said resting his forehead on hers. “You have already become my shield.”  
It was so easy to slip a little further into a world where Cullen Rutherford was her guiding star, and she felt the ground beneath her give way again with those words. “You’ve turned out to have quite the silver tongue, Commander.  
His chuckle warmed her. “Is it working?”  
“It’s working. Except… we have a few Orlesian nobles that can be kept from the gates no longer. I need you to meet with Baron Duvalier tomorrow to discuss a supply line across his lands. Will you have time? We absolutely need his cooperation to feed the refugees in the West. His land is the only territory not to sign on yet.” She studied his face before she went on. “Eli will be fine, you know. They all will.”  
He closed his eyes for a moment. “I know they will. I just….”  
“You hate sending others off to do what you want to do single-handedly. Cullen, you want to wrap us all up in cotton and crate us for safekeeping, but it doesn’t work that way, vhenan. You can no more hide us all away than you can fight every foe. It is precisely because you are here that the Inquisitor can do her part.”  
Cullen gave her a half smile. “How do you know me so well already?”  
“I’ve been paying attention.”  
“Oh, for how long?”  
She shook her head as they closed up the barracks office and stepped into the hallway. “Oh, don’t let it go to your head.”  
Cullen puffed up a bit as they made their way out to the dark courtyard. “I am merely curious how long you’ve been fascinated by me.”   
Holding back laughter, she fought for a stern tone, “It was a morbid fascination at first, I assure you. You’ve grown on me over time.”  
Putting one hand over his heart, he simply whispered, “Ouch.”   
She gave in, rushed to give in, in fact. “Fine,” she said. “Since you helped me off a horse after my first training session.”  
“That has been some time.” He let his right hand linger over her lower back. “For me, it was on the battlements. You didn’t know I was there. I was getting some air after a particularly long meeting with Varric and Cassandra. Dear Andraste, the fighting. You stood in the breeze outside the mage tower, as though you were stealing time alone as well. The wind picked up your curls and tossed them, and you closed your eyes to enjoy the breeze.” He coughed. “I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know if I could bring that look to your face with a touch.”  
Falon turned to him in the dark, pressing closer. “You can. Is your curiosity sated?”  
“Not remotely, darling. I have more questions.”  
The jangle of weapons and boots interrupted the moment. Falon looked around to find them both surrounded by four elves, all dressed for darkness and carrying knives. “Assassins,” she whispered. Her instincts caused her to immediately call a barrier over them both. Cullen’s made him put her behind him as his hand fell to his sword. The elves remained silent as statues.   
“I take it you aren’t here to talk.” Cullen’s voice cut brittle and anxious through the darkness. Falon took a long breath of cool night air. She’d been working on her fire, but she’d never actually used it on this scale before. She did her best to reach inside and find the center of her magic; that natural spring from which it bubbled up from the earth beneath her.   
Fire rose between the two of them and their attackers. She heard Cullen order her back to the barracks. While he fought off four highly trained rogue agents, she thought not. Falon ignored him repeatedly calling up barrier after barrier as he fought them. Steel rang on steel through the courtyard. Shouts began from a fair distance. She heard the hurried approach of two Inquisition soldiers on patrol.   
Cullen had help at last. She saw one of the remaining two assassins turn toward her. Magic was, for her, a constant battle for control, but this time Cullen was the one at stake. It was his safety she fought for, and it didn’t matter what became of her. She threw more fire at the approaching elf. He had his own barrier, it would appear, and she watched him walk straight through.   
Falon switched to ice. It would slow him even if it didn’t work. “Cullen,” she shouted. “There’s a mage.”  
With a grunted acknowledgment, he shoved his opponent away hard dropping him in the lap of one of the others who sliced him open with a scream cut short by death.   
She searched the darkness as she moved farther into the shadows of the gardens, and there he was; dressed in robes of crimson and flailing mana from both hands. She interrupted the spell he was casting by throwing a storm bolt of her own. The pain of the blast ended his chant.   
The warriors ran through the garden gate and headed for the enemy. Falon dropped a barrier over each of them, including Cullen. She held it, until the mage cast his ice mine her way. There was no stopping it. His aim turned out to be impeccable. The blast lifted her and threw her into one of the high garden walls. She had a vague impression of pain so foreign and unfamiliar that at first she had no name for it. She tried lifting her head to find Cullen. He was there for a moment, and then everything was gone as a blow hit her shoulder from somewhere above. 

*

She woke in a strange room. Vaulted rafters towered over her, she thought. It was hard to see in the primarily darkened room. A few spare candles and a fire burned in a large fireplace. Falon pushed a blanket off herself and tried to sit up only to cry out at the sharp, knife like pain in her right shoulder.   
“There. There. Mustn’t jostle. Lie back.” The voice was jovial and kindly, but somewhat unfamiliar. Falon turned her head to see the Tevinter Ambassador. She did lie back before she fell back.   
“Ambassador, why are you here?” She looked around. “Where is here?”  
He smiled at her. “You’re in the barracks, and I am minding the baby. Or so I’m to understand. Cullen seems quite taken with you, dear girl.”  
Nausea swept through her as she moved a bit trying to see more of the room. “Where is he?” She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted him here right now, but- gods help her- she did.   
“Don’t worry about that. How’s that arm?”  
“Painful,” she croaked out. “Where is Cullen?”  
Dorian Pavus stood up and went to a small table and basin to pour water into a cup. “Here, the tonic you were given needs water to work.”  
“I can’t,” she pushed the cup away.   
“You must,” he corrected gently, then tipped the cup to her lips. She swallowed reluctantly. Once she’d had enough to satisfy her torturer, he sat back down and crossed his legs. “Rutherford, eh? And here I’d always thought he carried a torch for the Inquisitor. Funny how things work out, isn’t it? What was your name again, darling?”  
The room seemed out of focus, and was it moving?   
“Darling is fine,” she whispered.   
“Ha.” He said far too loudly. “It seems you might be perfect for our merry band after all… darling.”  
“I feel….” She couldn’t find the strength to finish that thought. Falon couldn’t stop herself from throwing up all over the barracks floor. She retched so hard it hurt in the back of her throat, felt like it would never end.   
Until a cool blanket of healing energy fell over her, washing away the sickness like water. “Oh, dear,” Pavus said softly. “Never you mind, Darling. I’ve got you. Sleep….”  
She finally did, but every ounce of her being told her something was horribly wrong.

*

She woke a second time to boiling heat and the sound of Cullen’s voice nearby. It was angry Cullen voice she heard through the foggy filter that covered her thoughts.   
“I want a guard on this room at all times!”   
“Cullen, we’ve handled it. No one will get past either of us.”  
She heard the Ambassador’s cool laughter. “Truly, Cullen. I was bored anyway. I like this one. I say we keep her.”  
A snort of laughter sounded before a loud bang and groan of pain. Then Pavus continued, “Now look what you’ve done. We’ll have a repair to pay for on top of everything else.”  
Falon felt the tears well up with the sickness. She hadn’t ever felt this bad in her life, and the noise startled her. She was tired of being strong, and she wanted to be asleep and she was frightened, and, damn it, where was Cullen? Who was crying?  
Dorian appeared in her vision leaning over her bedside. “There now, Darling. What’s the matter?” She couldn’t answer him. She couldn’t keep her eyes open as she sort of fell back into a void of darkness. “Her fever has gone higher. Send for the healer.”   
He was talking to someone else in the room, and his voice had changed. Dorian Pavus was all business now. He wasn’t asking whoever he ordered to do his bidding. “Oh, and tell him he’ll have two patients. We’ll need something for that idiot’s hand.”  
“Is she awake?”  
“Dor…,” she whispered. He was there. Close enough to hold her. She reached for him, but he still couldn’t find him. It was too hard to lift her arms. But, then he was suddenly there. He held her, and the world was better. The pain was less.   
“Falon,” he said her name over and over, quietly whispered into her hair using the same tone he used when she’d heard him pray to Andraste once. “Don’t leave me,” he said once. “Please.”  
Why did he think she would leave him? She tried to reassure him, but it took everything she had. “Not… not finished, silly man.”  
She vaguely heard Dorian’s chuckle as he said, “Well, that settles it. We’re keeping her. What’s keeping that healer?”  
*

The third time she woke, she was far better than the time before. He body didn’t feel as if it was on fire any longer, though she was warm and cozy. She rushed a bit to sit up, then admitted that was a mistake. “Shh. He’s only been sleeping for an hour. Let’s let him sleep a bit more, shall we? How are you feeling, Darling?”  
Dorian approached the bedside, and Cullen appeared to have slept in a stiff backed chair beside it all night. He dozed there now.   
“Better.” She started to move, then winced at the pulling in her arm.  
“Be still now. Your shoulder is still wounded. We had to focus on the poison first. Let me help you.” Dorian put his hands at her waist and helped her scoot up, then straightened the pillows more comfortably. “Now, I need to remove the bandage so I can finish the arm. Are you feeling up to it?”  
She nodded, then said, “Thank you, Ambassador. This is very kind of you. You were so kind,” she said as tears pricked the back of her eyes again. She absently patted his hand, as he gave her the most bemused and adorable smile. He really was the most charming man.  
“Well, now, you’ve gone and done it. You’ve just become my second favorite elf, and now you and the Commander will certainly argue when you make me the Godfather.”  
She smiled at him weakly. Carefully, he pulled away her dressing revealing the gaping wound in her shoulder, angry red and welted. “What exactly happened to me?”  
“Ice shards, then a poisoned arrow.”  
As the first of his magic dropped onto the wound, she leaned back and closed her eyes as the pain eased. “Seems like overkill for a secretary.”  
“Oh, Darling, we’re going to have so much fun together,” he joked as he worked.   
“My name’s Falon, by the way.”  
“Your name is Darling. No arguments. It will make Cullen crazy.”  
She giggled a bit.   
“I heard that,” Cullen said gruffly from the chair. She turned her face his way mid-giggle. Happiness flooded her soul as Dorian’s magic forced the flesh of her arm to heal. The look on Cullen Rutherford’s face was pure love.   
“There now,” Dorian pronounced as he finished. “That should do nicely. It will still be stiff.” Cullen leaned forward as Dorian moved off the bedside. She saw his wrapped hand then.   
“What happened to you?”  
Dorian clucked. “Oh, that’s nothing, dear. He took sudden offense to a wall in the other room, but he’s promised to pay for it.”  
“You hit a wall?”  
He had the decency to look embarrassed and glanced away. With that, Dorian slipped out of the room. Cullen muttered something at the click of the door.   
“Why did you hit a wall?”  
“Because I thought I was losing you and because I couldn’t get to the man who hurt you.”  
“Where was he?” She had to ask.   
“Already dead,” he said between clenched teeth. She reached her hand out for him.   
“Do you have anywhere to be right now?”  
Cullen shook his head. “Eliana returned and left again. I’ve deployed all our forces where I can. Though we’re in a bit of a diplomatic incident, that’s not my department, therefore I’m utterly useless right now.” He eased into the place Dorian had abandoned.   
“Good, help me to the bath, and then you can tell me what’s happening. Then you can feed me because I suddenly feel famished, and then you can hold me unto you have to be useful again. How does that sound?”  
He beamed at each word. “Sounds perfect.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of this chapter are also in the Trespasser DLC. Spoilers

The Mabari, now named Pavus because Cullen had a hidden sense of revenge for Dorian’s calling her Darling incessantly, lay at Falon’s feet as she worked her way through the intelligence reports from Charter. There had been an incident of sabotage yesterday resulting in some destruction of property, and all the gatlock barrels appeared to be located and disarmed. The men who’d been sent to kill the commander of the Inquisition had also killed several guards and a servant from the kitchens.   
Falon pinched the spot between her eyes pounding against her bones.   
She wasn’t reacting to her near death experience. She was reacting to Cullen’s, reacting to the threat to the inquisition. She knew that. Yet, she couldn’t shake the sense of dread it had left behind.   
Cullen was awaiting word from the guards watching over the eluvian, even as he kept an eye on the investigation into the spies and assassins they now found themselves knee deep in.   
He’d let her have the illusion of being on her own today, even if Varric and Dorian were nearby somewhere. “Well, Pavus,” she said aloud staring into the fire. She yawned broadly, then rested her head against the wing of the armchair. Her foggy mind drifted off into healing sleep.   
She woke to the sound of Varric’s voice. “Come on, Curly. She’ll be back. El doesn’t know the word failure.”  
“It’s been far too long, Varric. Something is wrong.”  
The dwarf sighed. “Yeah, are you in for the night? I can take over at the mirror of doom for a while. Dorian was called to some official Tevinter party of some kind. Get some rest, Curly. I’ll come and get you as soon as they get back.”  
The door opened and closed again, and Falon tried to shake the sleep from her mind. She stood carefully. Still sore, she watched Cullen pull his overcoat off and place it across a chair back. His back stretched the soft fabric of his shirt as he undid the cuffs, preparing for bed.   
Falon remained riveted at the sight; his every move efficient and graceful. It was strange and new, yet intimately familiar now. His muscles appeared tense, and the tightness of his jaw told her exactly how much strain he was under. He was afraid, worried for his friends, and tired.   
“Cullen,” she said watching him turn to her.   
“I thought you’d be asleep.”  
She shook her head slightly, then held out her arms. Cullen’s expression melted into tenderness as he came to her. “You should be resting and letting the magic work.”  
Falon pressed her face against his shirt, breathing in the scent of him. “I should be a lot of things. You’re exhausted.”  
“It’s a side effect of war, I’m afraid. How are you feeling?”  
“I’m fine,” she told him. Part of her meant that. She wasn’t really hurt. Her body was healing, and she was as safe as anyone else in the palace. The terrified part of her was lying.   
Falon had watched her life fall into ruins again and again, left behind friends she’d made. She realized she’d begun to think of love as a temporary thing. Something she couldn’t keep for long. Being in Cullen’s arms right now felt permanent, but she’d seen forever crumble again and again. Still, even if this didn’t last, she wanted it. She wanted to remember this feeling until she was dust.   
Cullen’s arms wrapped her up, surrounding her. He pulled her in so close, she wasn’t sure how she still breathed. “I’m not,” he whispered in her hair. “Andraste, that was close.”  
“Eliana and the others are overdue?”  
He nodded, and began to quietly fill her in on the Qunari dragon’s breath, and their plans for Thedas. “She’s seeking this Viddasala now. Although, that won’t end it. Of course, she’s here under orders. The Qun has turned its attention our way. It would appear we have another war to fight.” His voice echoed with weariness. “I just wanted to… enjoy you.”  
“You what?” The surprise in her tone as she looked up at him couldn’t be concealed.   
He smiled down at her. “I was so looking forward to spending time just being with you, at peace, and here’s another war come to spoil it all.”  
That worm of fear burrowed into her soul again. She extricated herself carefully, trying not to make him feel rejected. Space was called for. “I’m not sure where in all of Thedas you thought being with an elf would be peaceful.” She met his eyes. “No one will accept this. I told you. I’m not the Inquisitor.”  
“That’s the second time you’ve said that. You and Eliana are not that different, Falon. She was accepted as the leader of the Inquisition.”  
“Because of the mark on her hand, Cullen. You’ve never lived as one of us. You can’t know what that might be like. You can’t ever claim me as a wife or a partner. It would make you an outcast.”  
Anger clicked into place on his face. “Watch me. Darling, I understand you’ve got experience of the world that I don’t have, but, in this, you don’t know me yet. I love you. Nothing will stop me. Nothing but you.”  
He went on, “And, I’d like to take this opportunity to point out that I’m a rebel Templar who quit lyrium to follow a heretical movement into war. I’ve been an outcast before.”  
Her mouth twitched though she fought it. “Point taken,” she replied. She leaned against a table near Cullen, and he met her eyes almost defiantly.   
“So would you?” He asked the question confidently, but Falon thought she detected uncertainty.   
“Would I what?”  
“Would you marry a human? Would you marry me?”  
The urge to smile at the question was hard to fight. “Are we talking in hypotheticals now?”  
He shook his head. “I thought it was very specific. Would you marry me?”  
“If I were someone else, I would marry you tomorrow.”  
Hurt filled his eyes. There was no question she’d hurt him. “Because I’m human?”  
Her own sadness made the room feel suddenly too small. “Because I’m not, Cullen. You can’t do what you need to do if you lose the respect of the Inquisition.”  
His brow drew down in an angry frown. “I’m starting to think you know nothing of the Inquisition.”  
“You haven’t noticed the elves are slowly leaving Skyhold? There have been whispers of some kind of… promised land, Cullen.”  
“You think there is a problem with the elves?” His attention was now riveted on her.   
“I don’t know, and now that my name is paired with yours I can’t ask and expect anything but lies.” She rested her head on his shoulder again. “The elves have lost much and have long memories.”  
His arms tightened about her. “I’ve noticed you never call them your people, and you always sound sad when you speak of them.”  
She sighed. “Perhaps because I never truly belonged. I was a burden to the city elves I’ve known. They allowed me among them, but they never took me to their hearts. If I’d had a connection to them, it might have been different. They weren’t bad souls, only cautious and suffering. More children would have been dangerous for any of the families in the alienage.”  
“That’s a terribly lonely childhood, Falon.”  
It had been, and she was suddenly afraid to go back to a world without belonging. She wrapped a hand in Cullen’s shirt where it hung open. “Let’s not decide this now. Please, Cullen. The world is uncertain. Please. Just let me have now.”  
His sigh was heavy, but his arms clutched her closer and his lips brushed her cheek softly. “Understand, Falon. You have me, and your answer to my proposal doesn’t matter in the slightest. I will always be here, and I will always be yours.”  
Her heart broke. It fell there on the floor at his feet. She leaned up to place a light kiss on his mouth.   
“Always yours,” she whispered. “Come to bed.”  
He followed her without hesitation.

*

The pounding on the door woke them both before dawn. Cullen reached for his sword by the bed. She went instead for a robe. As she began to walk toward the pounding on the door, Cullen admonished her, “Don’t you dare.”   
He tugged on breeches and shirt even as he called out, “A moment!”   
Falon went to his side. “Could it be Varric?”   
“It’s not Varric,” he told her in no uncertain terms. “Get dressed if you would. Something is wrong.”  
She went to do as he commanded putting on the simple dress and mantle she’d worn earlier. Most of her clothes were in her rooms for appearances sake. Her cloak was hanging near the door.   
Falon emerged to see Cullen’s face transformed. This was the Commander of men. “Get Charter to the eluvian now, and find Josephine and Dorian. Let them know to raise no alarms, but to come back here to my rooms and wait for us.” With a quick salute, the soldier was gone.   
Cullen held his hand out to her. “You’ve trained in healing some?” At her nod, he finished,”I need you.”  
“Of course,” she answered softly. “I’ll get my things.”  
“Bring anything you need. This is bad.”  
She nodded and moved toward her rooms that much faster as she fastened her crimson cloak against the chill air of the palace. Moments later, Cullen had led her around the barracks and toward the palace entrance. The breezeway was crowded with soldiers, but they were not in disarray. Rather they were all clearly prepared to meet the enemy.   
“Aside!” he ordered with no preamble, and aside his men stepped. Cullen pulled her ever forward through a sea of Inquisition soldiers. The small room contained a single cell, and inside that cell stood, not a person, but a large mirror. “What is happening?” He demanded.  
A soldier informed Cullen, “The Iron Bull has returned to the Inquisitor with his chargers. They’ll be bringing the inquisitor through directly. He wanted reinforcements just in case, he said. Looks like they’ve been hit hard, ser.”  
Falon understood her presence immediately and she put her bag on a chair. “Soldier, how many wounded, and what should we expect?”  
She ignored everything but the answer. “Lady, there is the usual party of four, but they’ve all sustained heavy injuries. The problem, however, is the Inquisitor.”  
Cullen demanded, “What’s happened to Eliana?”  
“It’s the mark, ser. It doesn’t look good.”  
Falon swallowed hard, but nodded briskly. “Very well. We may need a table. Find one. And tools, and a real healer would be nice.” She looked at Cullen as that man ran away to do her bidding. “You told Dorian to wait for you. We need him here, also bandages. We won’t have resources to heal everything. Is Stitches with the Chargers?”   
Cullen looked to a soldier standing guard who nodded. “Good. That’s good.” Falon took a long deep breath. “Clear this room, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll need space.”   
A sturdy table was carried in and pushed against a wall. A crate of tonics arrived with it, along with surgical tools and bandages. As Dorian came rushing in at an obvious run, the first of the chargers came through the eluvian.   
Falon could hardly see for the brilliant glow of the Inquisitor’s mark. “Oh, sweet gods, what happened?”  
Cullen answered. “It had been growing worse with each rift she closed. We don’t know what’s happening.”  
Grabbing Bull’s shoulder, she ordered him, “Sit down before you fall down. Blackwall, do you have a head injury?” He nodded to her. “Stitches, Blackwall first. Take him to Charter’s tent in the camp. She’ll be up, and find one of the local healers. It was a barroom brawl. Nothing more.” As they left, she shouted, “Do not let him sleep. Now, Cole, how deep is that cut?”  
Cole didn’t respond at first. “Cole.”  
“Nothing hurts. The Inquisitor is broken. Her mark hums.”  
Falon looked him over with a discerning eye. As human as he looked, she knew he was still more spirit than man, so she took his word. “Rocky, would you take him to Maryden? She can care for him best.”  
“Put the Inquisitor on the table.”  
She turned her attention to the elf before her. Her blue eyes were dulled with pain, barely alert. “Eliana, can you hear me? Eliana?”  
Eventually, she nodded. “I’m going to give you something to sleep, all right? I don’t think you want to be awake for this.”   
The other woman’s face crumbled. “He’s gone. He’s gone.”  
“Solas? Are you speaking of Solas?”  
She nodded weakly. With that, tears tracked through the grime on the Inquisitor’s cheek. Falon felt such pity at the woman’s despair. “Dorian,” she called. “There’s a draught in my bag, green vial marked as sedative. Could you bring that to me?”  
He did as she asked and Falon quickly administered the drug. “Cullen, have you ever tried to suppress the mark before?”  
Cullen looked surprised. “No, I’m ashamed to admit we never thought to try.”  
She frowned. “It’s probably dangerous, but I think we’re all in danger here. The mark is clearly unstable.”  
Cullen removed his coat and began rolling up his sleeves with no further questions. She gave him gentle instructions. “Go very slowly, and only take enough to dim the mark’s glow. We can’t even see to make the cut.”  
Dorian gave a dry laugh. “Darling, what can you possibly mean?”  
“I mean that the mark is going to kill her without question. She’s losing the arm or her life… tonight.”  
Stone silence fell in the small room. “We can’t move her out of here with it glowing this way, and we can’t risk the explosion that looks to be eminent if her magic continues to feed this mark.”  
Bull spoke up. Bitterness lacing his words. “She claims Solas helped buy her some time with it. I don’t know what he did. She hasn’t been very coherent, but I suddenly feel like sticking something very sharp in him.”  
Cullen spoke, “He was there. Of course, he was there.”  
“She kept saying something about the Dread Wolf. Cullen, we should talk when you’re finished here. I’ll be in the tavern… drunk if I can manage it.”  
“She the healer first,” she ordered Bull.  
With a grunt, he stood and left.   
Cullen turned his attention to the mark, and slowly, very slowly, the light dimmed. She noticed Cullen had begun to look gray around the edges. “All right, Cullen. That’s enough.” He didn’t stop.   
“Cullen!” She grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her. “So help me, if you don’t listen to me, I will marry Dorian.”  
“I don’t recall being asked,” Dorian said dryly.   
The important thing was that Cullen stopped trying to be the savior of the world for two minutes. “I can fix this, Cullen. Now, Go talk to Bull, but maybe come back and check on us later. I don’t know exactly how this mark works. I only know what I can feel.”   
He kissed her softly and squeezed her shoulder before he left.   
“I can already tell. I’m going to love being a godfather.”  
“Good, because this next part you will not love. I need you to help me hold her down.”  
She began funneling healing energy into the wounds she could see. The healer joined them soon, and Falon sat through the longest four hours of her life as she helped amputate the Inquisitor’s arm and heal the wound. By the time, it was over they were all exhausted, and shock had almost taken Eliana at least once. As soon as she was stable, they moved her to the heart of the Inquisition’s forces in the barracks where a recently healed Blackwall now stood watch.   
Falon had supervised the removal of the evidence of the Inquisitor’s adventures since Cullen wasn’t around to do it yet. She was drained from the night’s work, but it was a good kind of drained. She had been working hard to make herself useful and improve her magic. It seemed she had succeeded in this area. Falon was a healer.   
It was a useful thing to know about oneself. Up to that moment, she’d only studied the healing arts. She’d worked with the healers in Skyhold and assisted in the clinic, but she’d never pushed herself to use her own magic in that way, preferring not to risk a patient. Faced with few choices, she’d found she had a knack for it. Once they returned to Skyhold, she resolved to spend more time in the clinic.   
Pulling her skirt out of the way, she made her way down the Palace steps to the outer courtyard and shops. Cullen found her there, leaving the tavern where she’d purchased a small breakfast having realized she was ravenous after all the magic she’d expended.   
“Falon,” he said. “I’m sorry to have abandoned you.” He took her into his arms as he said the words, and she melted at the warm touch and soft voice of the man she loved. She did love him. More than anything here or between worlds.   
“I told you to go do your job. You were needed.”  
“About that,” he smiled at her. “You were magnificent. Falon, I never knew.”  
“Eliana did,” she told him. “I was so puzzled. Why would she put me with you when it was the last thing I’d been trained for? She thought we might need a healer of our own. Orlais is not my favorite vacation spot by the way. When we finally get a break, I expect you to take me somewhere infinitely more restful.”  
“You seem to have a fondness for Tevinter.” The wicked glint in his eye said more than anything that the immediate danger was past.   
“Speaking of Dorian, he’s decided he’s the godfather of our children. Still want to marry me?”  
Cullen stopped and turned her to face him. “Are you certain you want to talk about this now?”  
“Yes,” she said as a horrifying thought crossed her mind. “You changed your mind.”   
“No!” he returned. “What are you telling me, Falon?”  
Masked Orlesians passed them as they faced off in the square. “I realized I can be useful to the Inquisition. I can become someone people will respect. That won’t stop the worst of the hatred, but it will make it worth it. I love you, Cullen. I don’t want to run anymore.” She raised her hands at her sides. “I surrender, Templar. You have me.”  
He reached for her, hauling her into a kiss that would have been considered very crass by Orlesian standards even if she weren’t an elf.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This the final chapter with Trespasser DLC spoilers.

The final, dramatic moments of the events at the Winter Palace were about to be finished, thank the gods. Falon had stayed behind to take some of the load from Cullen. They were preparing the wagons for the trip home to Skyhold. Her task was to make sure everything went according to his plans, in particular with the safe storage and transport of the eluvian. She’d been present the night before as the inner circle had plotted their next moves. It said a lot for her place in the group that she wasn’t asked to leave the informal gathering of mourning friends who were more like family, especially while that pain was fresh and raw, and a stranger’s attention might be unwelcome.   
And they’d all been betrayed by one of their own. One more than the others.   
Eliana had remained silent before the fire ghost white and pale, looking like a spirit lost in the fade herself. Like perhaps part of her hadn’t stepped back out of the eluvian. She sat and narrated the tale of her meeting with Solas in a dead voice with staring eyes drawn inexorably to the flames.   
“He is Fen’harel. He was the dread wolf.”  
Falon couldn’t sit idle. Seeking to comfort, she knelt beside Eliana and reached for her lone hand hanging listless over the chair arm. Clutching it, she asked, “He was The Dread Wolf. Not a follower or agent?”   
At her wooden nod, Falon felt a tightness about her own eyes that usually preceded her own tears and leaned forward holding tightly to the Inquisitor’s hand to hide her face against the chair. It was a small enough comfort, but it was all she had to give. How completely they were betrayed. Eliana most of all.   
Eliana looked down as if she was only just seeing Falon for the first time. She breathed deeply, centered herself and continuing to hold Falon’s hand, she told the story:  
“His agents stumbled over the Qunari agents in our ranks. His word. Stumbled.” Her voice shook with bitter irony. “He used the opportunity to warn us and to lure me to him to deal with the mark. I can’t deny the truth of it. Whatever he did allowed me to make it back here.”  
Falon squeezed her hand, hating the pain she could hear in the woman’s story. “He loves you,” she whispered almost to herself, but she looked up, wishing to give the Inquisitor one assurance at least. The dread wolf had loved her. Falon had seen it in his face when he looked at her. She’d seen it in the way he was soft with no one else, only her.   
Eliana met Falon’s gaze with pain clearly visible in her own dark eyes, then ran a hand over Falon’s tightly bound hair. “I’m not sure that matters, Darling. Not when the betrayal is this final. He intended to rip open the veil, tear it down and let the fade join with the physical world again. He still intends to.”   
“But it’s Solas,” she insisted.   
“Darling,” Blackwall growled. Then patiently apologized. “Let’s let her get through it. She’s exhausted.”  
They were right.   
Everyone was calling her Darling now. Falon thought she might need to remind herself of her own name eventually. She’d found it amusing at first, especially when Dorian used it to tease Cullen. She was certain Cullen knew it was a game they played. She was, after all, hardly Dorian’s type if the looks he had been slipping Bull when he thought no one was looking were any indication.   
There was something about that name from each of them that made her feel more a part of the family than anything else could. Who knew what would happen back at Skyhold? But, in this moment, in this room, these people had accepted her as a part of Cullen’s life. Bull had patted her on the back upon entering the room, calling her the General as he made a booming joke, hoping, she believed, to distract everyone from their pain. Even Sera seemed at ease with her now. Although Falon hardly understood half of what the other elf was saying. But, she did understand acceptance when it was offered.   
The fire popped loudly startling Falon as she sat there. “So we find him. We stop him. We change his mind.”  
Eliana returned to the wooden creature she’d been a moment ago. “It may not be entirely that simple, but we will find him and we will stop him. The question is… Where do we begin, Leliana?”  
Leliana dressed in her usual purple uniform seemed stranger to Falon than Leliana in the robes of the Divine, so long had she been away from Skyhold. “If he has enough spies to stumble over the Qunari, then we can stumble over his spies deliberately I’m sure. He’ll keep a close watch on us.”  
Eliana spoke up. “I’m not convinced that’s true. He seemed….” She stopped and appeared to fully digest another piece of her pain. “Finished,” she said on a choked sob. Falon reached to touch the woman’s arm in a gesture of comfort.   
After a short, awkward moment fighting tears, the Inquisitor smiled sadly and placed a hand over Falon’s. “You can’t help yourself. You’re healing me.” The warm light she emanated when she healed was there where they touched.   
She started to draw back her hand with a hurried apology. The Inquisitor held it tight and whispered, “Don’t apologize for offering comfort where comfort is greatly needed, Darling. It’s a rare gift.”   
Eliana pinned Cullen with a look that said so much, but could be translated by no one else in the room. It was part warning and part sadness. Cullen seemed to get her meaning easily. He nodded once, then deftly steered the conversation back to Solas and the Council.  
“We will be asked to make a choice tomorrow.”  
Josephine sighed, “We will. Ferelden and Orlais are most likely united in the desire to see us disbanded.”  
Eliana looked around the room. “And that is what we must decide. Thoughts?”  
Varric smiled at his friend. “You know I’m here for you no matter what. Much good that does with me in Kirkwall.”  
Then the Divine said, “You’ve heard my thoughts on the matter. I think you should consider it.”  
A protest rose from Josephine, “Are you serious? There is still so much to do, especially now that Sol….” She paused.   
“You can say his name.” Eliana shifted in her seat upset and restless. It wasn’t hard to read her frustration. She clearly wanted to hit something. “Just say his damn name, Josephine.”   
“Solas,” she finished carefully. “He intends to rip down the veil. We will need resources to find him.”  
Leliana crossed her arms. “I am Divine. I have those.”  
“My fleets are doing well, Inquisitor. The Montilyets are well-connected and wealthy. Mostly Thanks to you. We are at your disposal.”  
She met Cullen’s gaze. “And what about you, Curly?”  
Cullen gave his old friend a shrug. “I am here until the end, but I’m not much use without an army, Herald.”  
“Yet, it’s our army, and our spies, and our people that we doubt.” Eliana let go of Falon’s hand and stood. Falon moved back closer to the fire, and turned her face to it. “I’ll think about it tonight. It’s doubtful I’ll sleep anyway. Good night, my friends.” She moved toward her bedroom door as though her wounds still pained her. Perhaps, it was a phantom pain, and Falon couldn’t do anything for that. Only time would heal the wounds on her mind.   
She turned back, her hand on the door. Her other sleeve pinned over the bandages, a stark reminder of what they’d lost.   
Blackwall watched her go with a haunted expression on his face. “I’ll be here if you need anything, your worship.”  
“You pulled the short straw, Thom, hmm?” Stern and grim, the man just shook his head and said good night. One by one, the others left for their beds. Falon had become somewhat lost in thought before the fire, an uncomfortable weight settling around her neck and chest. She felt for the Inquisitor because she had been in her shoes time and again. To be left behind was a terrible pain.   
Cullen’s hand appeared before her, palm up in invitation. She looked up at him thoughtfully. The firelight made his hair shine and glow, and it showed his scar in sharp relief against a kind face, so kind for a soldier. “You need rest.”  
She did. Taking his hand, she stood and straightened her skirts. “Good night, everyone,” she said softly to the rest of the group left in the room. She followed Cullen in a somber mood which wasn’t much like her.   
Varric and Dorian remained outside the Inquisitor’s chamber. They all walked together in silence, until she felt Cullen’s arm steal around her as though it were habit. “You are quiet.”  
She smiled. “That’s a dead giveaway, huh?” Her smile faded at her next thought. “It’s a terrible way to lose a friend. It’s a far worse way to lose a love.”  
Behind her, Varric said, “And your soft heart bleeds for us all, doesn’t it?”  
She didn’t know what to say. It was true. Cullen kissed her temple.   
“I just don’t understand. Did he not see what he had? I understand his need to correct his mistake, however misguided, but how could he have left her? Or any of you? How could he doom the world as it is now?”  
Even Dorian, who had an answer for everything, didn’t have an answer for that.   
They parted ways at Cullen’s room. She and Cullen stood at the door. “I have no excuse to be in your room tonight,” she said.   
He tugged her into his arms. “You need no excuse.”  
“But the gossip.”   
“All right, Pavus will miss his Darling, how’s that for an excuse?”  
She chuckled. “He is your Mabari.”   
“You know very well that he’s yours. You’ve stolen him from me.”  
They argued for a while about who would walk the Mabari back at Skyhold before going to bed, curled up in the same bed. No excuses needed.   
___

The Exalted Council was meeting even as she grabbed up her bag to leave. “Come, Pavus. Time to load up.” The Mabari followed behind her drooling and grinning like a fool. The Inquisition’s convoy was about to leave within the hour. Her horse stood saddled and waiting, and Falon commanded Pavus to wait in the cart that carried the crated and spelled eluvian.   
“Watch it,” she commanded him, and he barked excitedly. So adorably that it was hard to believe he was a creature capable of ripping a man’s arm off. She tied her bag to her saddle, and walked toward the tavern. Bull sat at the bar.   
“Bull, any word yet?”  
“Nah,” he said with a sad smile. “I haven’t been waiting for it though. I think she’ll disband. Skyhold might be too much for her now, but you and Cullen, yeah? Didn’t see that coming, Darling. You actually surprised me, and not many can do that. Ben Hasrath.”  
“Yes, I know,” she said with a grin. “So, you didn’t think we’d be each other’s type?”  
“You’re anyone’s type, Darling. I didn’t think he’d have the guts to stop looking and start talking. The man has a real martyr complex sometimes. El helped him with that some, but he’s gonna have to be supervised, kid.”  
Krem called from outside, “Bull, they’re out.”  
She followed the Iron Bull outside. Eliana in formal gear led Cullen, Cassandra and Josephine, and she carried the writ that formed the inquisition from the beginning, written by Divine Justinia. Eliana smiled a smile that didn’t quite hit her eyes, but she tried. “Bull, she said as she approached. “I want you to ride with me. We need to talk about ferreting out enemy agents.”  
She looked at Cullen. “We’re still Inquisition?”  
He beamed. “We’re still Inquisition.”  
Falon hadn't realized how much she hadn’t wanted to leave, to start over somewhere else.   
Their friends had come to see them off. Varric called out, “Curly, you’re welcome back to Kirkwall any time.”  
“Thank you, Varric,” he answered without enthusiasm.   
Just to be sure, Falon said under her breath, “We aren’t going back to Kirkwall, are we?”  
“Not even on a bet.”  
She smiled at him. Gods, but she loved him.   
Gods. What Gods? This thing with Fen’harel had made her rethink everything. Her people, the elves, had believed in Gods, but what were they really? So much of what she knew didn’t make sense, not now. Solas had changed every life he’d touched, including hers. If the Dread Wolf was a man, and she’d met him. What else was real? And did any of that matter to her at all? Divinity was, in fact, in the eye of the beholder. Just perhaps.  
Cole and Maryden walked up to take her hand. “You won’t be coming back with us, will you?”  
Maryden smiled sweetly, “Cole and I have much to do, don’t we Cole? But we’ll be back someday.”  
“I do hope so,” she told Maryden, then hugged her. “I’ll miss you.”   
“We have to help the hurting, and so do you.” Cole hadn’t changed very much at all.  
She smiled at the spirit turned human. “I do, and I’ll miss you, too, Cole.”  
“It’s good to be missed, isn’t it?”  
“Indeed it is.”  
The Inquisitor rode by with The Iron Bull and Blackwall on either side of her, causing Cole to pause and watch them intently.   
“Heart hurts. Missing pieces. She looks at the sky and only sees shadows now. Not bravery. Not courage. Shadows in the sky.” He had a terrible gift, Falon realized. One she recognized all too well. Mercy. Compassion. She rested a hand on his shoulder.   
“We’ll all look out for her. She won’t be alone.”  
“Neither will you. Soft and sweet. He sees you as home.”  
Maryden watched her face carefully. Falon wiped away a tear from the corner of one eye, trying unsuccessfully to hide the effect his words had on her.   
Troubled, Cole said, “I did it again, Mary. I did it wrong.”  
Grinning, Maryden shushed his worries. “We talked about happy tears, remember?”  
“Oh, yes,” Cole said, happy now he realized he hadn’t hurt her.   
“Be safe. Both of you,” she told them.   
Falon watched them both away as the soldiers of the Inquisition’s honor guard marched out of the main gates. She mounted her horse, telling the Mabari to stay in the cart. Pavus happily rested his chin on his paws sprawled across the box containing the eluvian. She laughed at the idea of anyone trying to steal that thing today.   
Cullen rode up beside her. “Are you ready to go home?”  
“On one condition,Vhenan. You have to fix the roof. Honestly. You have an army at your disposal.”  
He grinned. “I sent a bird the second day we were here. Call it optimism. A new roof, a spiral of stairs instead of a ladder, and real furniture.”  
“You were serious about this, Commander.”  
“I am always serious, or so Varric tells me.”  
“Oh,” she said giving him a secret smile. “Varric doesn’t know everything. I’ve seen you less than serious before.”  
“Andraste, what would I ever do without you?”  
Turning in the saddle, she actually did sound more serious than she ever had before. “I promise you. You’ll never have to find out.”   
Dorian trotted his horse to stand beside hers. “I’m headed to the coast, so my goodbyes must be said here, my darling.” She laughed at the annoyance on Cullen’s face.   
“You’ll be coming back to see us soon, won’t you?”   
He reached for her hand and kissed her fingers. “I wish I could say that would be the case, but there is much to do back home. Rebellions to incite. Traditions to topple.”  
She grinned him. “If anyone can do it, you can.”   
He grinned back. “I’d kiss you, darling, but I fear for my life.” He cut hard eyes to Cullen. “I believe I made myself clear about keeping her, so do try and be civilized, Rutherford. I don’t want to come back to Skyhold and find my second favorite elf with a broken heart of her own.”  
His tone teased, but his eyes didn’t. Cullen sobered at the reminder of the Inquisitor’s pain. “You need have no concerns on that score.”  
“Keep it that way. Now, I must be off, darling.”  
“Dor, you should write to the Iron Bull. I know he’d love to have intelligence reports from Tevinter, and you could keep him informed as you learn anything.”  
Dorian turned and looked at her shrewdly, as if he was only just now figuring something out about her. “That’s not a bad idea, Imp.”  
“I thought I was darling.” She chuckled.  
“You were just promoted. See you, Cullen. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”  
“That should be easy enough since there’s little you won’t do. Be careful in Tevinter, Dorian. You’ve not set yourself an easy task.”  
With a quick salute, he trotted away toward the coast.  
___

They arrived at Skyhold with snow falling gently on the landscape as a gentle storm moved in, but it was clear from the gray horizon that it would be worse by morning. The trip had been a long one, and Falon was dead on her feet as Cullen helped her from her horse. Cullen raised a hand to one of the men, a young human boy barely old enough to hold a sword. Merely someone’s child recruited in the chaos. She wondered which farm hold the boy had left behind in search of something more.   
“Corsi, would you escort the lady to my quarters with her bags? Her luggage is on the next cart.” The soldier saluted and went to get Falon’s bags. “Darling, I’m going to be a while.”  
She smiled at this version of Cullen. She’d seen him in almost every state. This Cullen was nervous. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’m so tired. I’ll be asleep before I even climb the stairs.”  
“If you’re sure….”  
She smiled at him and kissed his cheek, but her smile fell again. “Go check on Eliana, if you don’t mind. She won’t want to talk about it, but she needs to. This was a blow.”  
Cullen nodded. “For all of us. I will talk to her.” He kissed her on the tip of her nose which she wrinkled. “I won’t be long.”  
An unintelligible sound came from the boy called Corsi’s direction, and he almost managed to hide the smile he wore at his commander’s ridiculous behavior. Cullen didn’t seem to mind, and she thought she detected a fondness for the boy, in fact, as he growled, “Quiet, you! See her home safely.”  
His attention was required before he got four steps, and Falon turned hers toward her own duties. “Corsi, I know he said to take me to our rooms, but I also have work to do. On that cart is a crate of supples for tonics and elixirs. We will need it delivered to Master Clemence in the tower, and I will need access to parchment and pen.”  
She’d been thinking furiously the whole way home. There was something she could do specifically for Cullen. Something that could benefit the inquisition greatly and fell right in line with her scant magical talents.   
She would treat the Templars who had abandoned lyrium for sanity and peace of mind. She needed to prepare a request for the Inquisitor, for it was her permission that was required, and then she would begin her research. Cullen had been collecting every tome on the Templar order he could find. She would begin there.  
___


	6. Chapter Six

She’d fallen asleep in his bed reading.  
The tower still had that smell of newly worked wood due to all the repairs as well as the smoke of the stove he’d had installed. Candles burned about the room casting a glow over her face, soft with sleep. Cullen gently removed the book from her limp hands. The History of the Templar Order.  
Light reading, apparently.  
He smiled knowing there was only one reason she’d be reading something so dry. She was trying to help him. Without making any unnecessary sound, he started to remove his mantle and gauntlets. Yet, he never took his eyes off her. Couldn’t if he’d wanted to. Would there ever come a day when he wouldn’t want to watch her?  
He’d often wondered about that. His parents had had that, but soldiers don’t often get to live out their days in the arms of one they love. What would that look like for him? What if it turned out to actually be possible?  
He’d been braced for the end since Kirkwall, expecting death around every corner.  
It hadn’t come.  
Instead, he’d turned one day and seen an elf enjoying a breeze, and the world had shifted. Suddenly, he had a moment to think of more than the Inquisition and the Chantry. He had to see the elves, the Qunari. He had to think of the whole as more than parts, but as individuals. It shamed him that he hadn’t really done this before Falon.  
As commander, he’d thought in practical terms so long that he’d seen mages as people, yes. But, something also that needed to be controlled not understood. They were individual.  
And, wasn’t that just what the Champion had always tried to tell him?  
Eliana’s years surviving the circle had made her formidable on the battlefield. It had made her strong and fierce. Falon spent her life running. Primarily because the treatment received in the Circles was, he could admit, even at its best, only comfortable servitude. He’d used the justification of blood magic himself to justify it.  
Now.  
Now that he loved her. Demons who had been the enemy only, until his time in the circle, had become his worst nightmare. He looked down at clenched fists. They could never take her from him. He’d go into the fade himself and fetch her out again if he had to. If a circle came for her, he would run with her. He would hide her away, as would any of his companions and friends.  
He eased onto the bed without waking her and lay on his side watching her longer. His finger rose as if by instinct to trace the fine tip of pointed, elegant ears. She nuzzled into his touch. He chuckled quietly. He’d never met anyone like her.  
Tortured, terrified for years, and still, she found a way to trust, and with a Templar no less. Falon didn’t even trust her own people, but she trusted him. It was at once a gift and a heavy burden to bear.  
She’d been working with the healers more and more, and her magic had taken shape finally. He’d experienced it himself a time or two when he had a headache or sore muscles from training. He doubted she even realized what she did, but Eliana was right. She healed with every touch. She couldn’t help it.  
Any pain- no matter how small- she healed with a touch. She could calm the frantic, ease the grieving, and heal the sick. He’d wondered often if her arrival hadn’t cleared the way for Cole’s leaving. They’d bonded- his mage and the spirit from the fade. It had seemed to him Cole’s desire to leave with Maryden began after Falon’s mastery of her magic.  
One by one, the inner circle of the Inquisitor were peeling off to go about the lives they’d nearly lost to Corypheus. The Chargers remained, and Thom Ranier would never leave the Inquisitor at this point. That was clear. Josephine and himself were all that was left of her advisers, once Cassandra left to find her Seekers.  
His mind wandered back to the cellar in the palace where they’d met one last time in the night. “Then, we find people he doesn’t know,” Eliana had said with fire in the words. Solas would likely not survive her next encounter with him, Cullen thought sadly. What a burden that would be. He looked at Falon sleeping peacefully.  
Pictured the nightmare scenario he dreamed of at times. It was not unlike that of the Inquisitor and her elf. He closed his eyes. Andraste protect him from such a fate, he prayed. His lips moved with comforting words from the chant in a whisper so that he would not wake her.  
He could never kill Falon. Abomination or no. In his nightmares, she would beg him to help her, beg him to stop it, and he never could. Whatever came next, Eliana must be shielded from that fate. If Solas had to die, it would be at other hands than hers. It had to be. Cullen couldn’t imagine surviving the experience. Looking at Falon this moment, he knew- knew- he would follow her. Anywhere.  
He smiled as she stirred. Sensing his darker thoughts, no doubt.  
Her eyes opened. “You’re back,” she stated. “I waited for you.”  
“I can tell,” he said kissing her lips. “Go back to sleep, darling. It’s late, or early as the case may be.”  
“I was reading.” Still half asleep, she mumbled to herself.  
“About Templars. I noticed. Suddenly interested in Templars, my dear?”  
She nodded with a tired sigh. “Very. Want to fix them. Just ….”  
Stunned and humbled, he realized quickly what she meant. The lyrium. She wanted a solution to lyrium addiction. He shushed her and told her to go back to sleep while folding her up in his arms.  
She had indeed sensed his worry and pain. The soft white glow of her magic hummed around her sleeping form curled into his side. He closed his eyes again. It felt like sunlight on his face. Yet, it was the very fact that her healing was involuntary, instinctive, that frightened him so. All that was necessary was for her to attract some demon’s attention and his fears could come true. It only happened with healing. Ask her to draw fire for more than one moment and she balked, but when she healed, she gave it everything, glowed as brightly as a star.  
Cullen fell asleep praying for Andraste’s protection more fiercely than he had in years. He had finally found something he couldn’t protect, couldn’t control, in the form of a soft-spoken orphan who feared magic more than he had after his experience in the circle. 

*

Falon breathed in the morning air, which was rapidly growing cooler each day, to steady herself. The Inquisitor would hear her. She knew that, but she wondered if she would be capable of doing more than that given her own troubles. She gave the guard her name, and he checked his list, names that were already cleared with Josephine for a moment of the Inquisitor’s time. Today, the Inquisitor had court in the afternoon and met with the people of the hold in the morning to discuss problems and concerns.  
He waved her through and she made her way down the balcony hall and up the short flight of stairs.  
Eliana sat behind her desk which rested elegantly in front of a massive shelf of books. Most appeared to be magical tomes. Falon wondered if any were important for her own purposes, and made a note to ask.  
“Falon. It is so good to see you.” The Inquisitor said her name so gently. “Josephine says you intend to surprise me.”  
“Not intentionally, your worship.”  
Eliana frowned. “We spoke about this at length, Falon. In private, I’m Eliana.”  
Falon smiled at the reminder.  
“Yes, well…. I will try, your… Eliana.”  
“’ Tis all I can ask.” She seemed almost merry today, almost, but not quite. “What can I do?”  
“I would like your support for a project, yo… Eliana. Research into lyrium. I want to set up a clinic, work with the tower to find a way to reduce the symptoms of the addiction.”  
“What kind of support would you ask?”  
Here’s where it got tricky. “Space in one of the abandoned towers. Herbals and tonics to try on the symptoms. I have something that is helping Cullen. It’s a powder mixture. They can take it with a drink at any meal once a day. I would like to produce this and distribute it for the time being. Also, I would train an assistant to run the clinic in my absence, so there would be more than one person who could produce the powder.”  
Eliana leaned back in her chair watching her shrewdly. “And?” she prompted waving one hand.  
“And, I would like to mount an expedition.”  
“Oh ho! There it is. That’s why you’re really here. Josephine would have gladly given you all the resources you require. You want me to help you convince Cullen to let you go.” Eliana appeared to be enjoying this, Falon thought. “Oh, boy, you don’t ask much, do you? Where would this expedition take you? Dare I even ask?”  
“Um…,” she sighed. Falon had lived all her life independent of everyone, so there was a certain frustration involved in how hard the command of the Inquisition sheltered her still. “Valamar, your worship. Varric says there is still a collection of tomes that could aid me. He believes they could be… in a vault further down in the ruin.”  
“In the deep roads.” Disbelief registered clearly on Eliana’s face.  
“Not exactly, but nearly. There are crossroads further down. According to research and Varric, it was a library of sorts, a place of research and historical significance whose name is lost to the ages, but I thoroughly believe it to still be there.”  
“You want me to ask Cullen to let you mount an excursion into the deep roads. He’ll never do it, Falon. Never in a million years.”  
“Let me? You must be joking, Inquisitor. If I never let the circle turn me into a caged bird, what makes you think a man could do it?”  
Eliana barked out a laugh. “Oh, Cullen. Cullen. What have you done? Falon, I’m not saying he will tell you no. I’m saying there’s no way you will be leading that expedition. He will not turn you loose in the deep roads alone. Are you certain there is anything there to acquire?”  
“Of course not. No one who goes on a quest like this ever can be, but I do believe it was definitely there. Whether it will be intact or useful remains to be seen.” Falon bit her lip, then tried a different approach. “Please, Inquisitor. This could help Cullen. It could… He deserves to experience something positive from magic. It’s already taken so much from him.”  
Sadness seeped into Eliana’s eyes. “You fool yourself if you don’t think he would do it all again if it meant getting to you. I’ve known him for a long time now. Cullen is a dedicated man, loyal to a fault. He would, and has, almost died for all of us once or twice.”  
“You have changed him. Now, it’s easy to see that he lives for those he loves. It’s not just sacrifice and duty. It’s deep, abiding love. Whatever you believe he has lost to magic, I promise you that you’ve replaced that and given him far more than he ever had as a Templar. He had a purpose. You’ve given him a reason to fight.”  
Eliana shook her head slowly. “He’s going to kill me. Get with Josie and set up your clinic in the meantime. I’ll start working on Cullen. To be sure, the discussion about your little trip may take longer than the expedition itself.”

*

Cullen had been puzzled when the messenger requested his presence at the tavern. Eliana waited beside the Iron Bull’s usual seat lounged with his back to the wall like every soldier Cullen had ever known. Cullen approached them, then sat down leaning forward with an elbow on one knee.  
“Are we celebrating something?”  
The Iron Bull only smiled. “Uh, no.”  
The two of them clearly knew something that amused them both greatly. “What are we doing?”  
Bull waved to the waitress. “We are having a drink. Trust me. You’ll need it.”  
Cullen let slip a wry laugh. “Why will I need a drink?”  
Eliana leaned over to Bull. “I told you she wouldn’t tell him.”  
“Of course, she wouldn’t tell him,” Bull returned as if Cullen wasn’t there.  
“Who didn’t tell me what?”  
“Falon truly hasn’t discussed her plans with you at all?” The Inquisitor seemed surprised.  
“What plans? Really, El. What is going on here?”  
“Go on, Boss. Make it quick and clean.” Bull laughed as he tipped back his ale.  
“Falon came to me with her plans today. She wants to open a clinic for the Templars who are giving up lyrium.”  
“Does she?” Cullen said as understanding dawned. “That’s why the sudden interest.” He couldn't believe someone like her existed in all the world, and, at that moment, he’d never been prouder of anything in his life as he was of the woman he’d chosen.  
With a secret chuckle, Bull grinned at him. “But wait, there’s more.”  
Eliana rolled her eyes at the Qunari. “I’m afraid he’s right. She wants to mount an expedition to seek out more research on lyrium… beneath Valamar.”  
“Well, I can certainly talk to Charter. See who would be best to send.”  
Eliana shook her head. “No, Cullen. She wants to go. Believes, in fact, that it’s important it be her because she knows what she’s looking for.”  
Baffled, he said, “I’m sorry. It sounded like you were saying she wanted to go into the deep roads.”  
Bull laughed again.  
“I did,” she answered. “Because she does.”  
“Well, that’s impossible.”  
“Why is it impossible, Cullen? What is the difference from any of us here? She wants to go. She has a purpose and wants to see it through.”  
He sat there stiffly holding his forgotten ale. He looked down. Suddenly remembering it was in his hand, he tipped it back. This made no sense. Why would she not mention this?  
“Surely, you can see she isn’t ready to go on a quest this dangerous.”  
“I don’t see that. If she were just herself, I’d possibly agree, but she has the resources of the inquisition at her disposal. Falon has the idea that there should be knowledge left in that ruin, and she wants to use it for our men. I’m of a mind to let her try. What if she can break the leash the Chantry has on the Templars?”  
“Sounds worth it,” the Iron Bull murmured.  
“In any event, you have to talk about it with her. She’s not a child.” Disapproval soaked Eliana’s tone.  
Cullen looked at her sharply. “What would you have me do? Of course, she’s not a child, but she’s …. She is….”  
Eliana stood and walked to stand beside him dropping a hand on his shoulder. “Believe me, Cullen. I understand. It feels as though you cannot go on without her. May I offer you advice? If you stifle her, coddle her, betray her or abuse her trust, you will always lose her. She is stronger than all of us put together. I believe that to my soul. Why don’t you?”  
“I do,” he said quickly. “I do.”  
“Then show her you believe. Anything worthy requires risk. Is she worthy?”  
He nodded once, and Eliana left him sitting there staring into the eyes of an amused Qunari. “I can’t tell you that I understand all this romantic notion you humans gush about, but the boss is right on one point- and I’m speaking as a son of the Qun. Some folks don’t do well in a cage. I suspect your darling is one of them.”  
Cullen finished off his drink in silence, then left the tavern to walk the stairs to the stone battlements. He took his time, letting his mind wander over all they’d said.  
He pulled open the door to a tower room long left empty to find servants of the holding rushing to and fro. They were removing the debris and assessing repairs. He stopped the crew chief. “Bandolar, what’s this? I thought we were repairing essentials first.”  
“Ambassador’s orders, Ser. She says we’re to have need of this chamber sooner rather than later.”  
“Perhaps as a clinic,” he muttered. At Bandolar’s confounded glance, Cullen cleared his throat and said, “Well, just so. Carry on then.”  
One thing crystallized in his mind. This would happen whether he agreed or not. He could fight it, but he would lose. Truth be told, he didn’t want to cage her. He just wanted her safe, tucked into his tower rooms and out of harm’s way, but she was a mage by her very nature. She was actually safe nowhere.  
As he strolled the battlements lost in thought, a cool breeze cut over the castle walls. He looked up at the scar in the sky where the breach had been. Threats could fall from the very sky tomorrow, he realized. His worry was that she was seeking them out for him.  
Would he not do the same in a heart’s beat?  
He entered his own office and climbed the stairs to their chamber. She was studying a book and making furious notes. A map had been spread out on the table nearby. Books were piled in every corner. His chamber had become Falon’s war room.  
“Falon,” he said from the doorway she hadn’t heard him open.  
“Hmm,” she hummed glancing his way. “You’re home early.”  
“I had a discussion with Eliana.”  
She continued her scribbling, saying, “Oh.” Until her brain cleared and caught up with his words, then her hand paused over the paper still as a statue. “Oh, she’s informed you of my plans.”  
“She has.”  
She put her pen down quickly. “And, how angry are you?” She stood and moved to face him.  
“I’m not angry,” he said. He wasn’t. What he felt was far too complex to be so easily defined. He thought about it, advancing on her slowly. “I’m worried. I feel responsible. I am concerned, but I’m not angry.” By this time, he stood facing her in the firelight from the stove. He pulled his gauntlets off and let them fall to the floor.  
She wore a night shift, simple and plain. Did she realize her slim body created a silhouette against the light? He doubted she did, but it had his attention. He removed his large mantle and tossed it over the second chair.  
“What are you thinking, Cullen?” she asked just before touching him. Mana raced to her fingertips by instinct. He felt it warm on his skin as she ran a hand over his face and around his neck.  
Cullen closed his eyes at the touch. He knew what magic unleashed could do to a man from experience, but, until Falon, he hadn’t realized it could rebuild with a touch what was destroyed just as easily. He grabbed her hand and held her palm to his lips. “I love you,” he whispered.  
“I love you as well. Why do you feel… hurt? I’m trying to help.” Her voice trembled.  
“You haven’t hurt me,” he assured her. He pulled her into his arms fully, crushing her small body to his. “I’m afraid, Falon. Terrified.” He took her mouth fiercely, then got control of the fear lashing him repeatedly. Putting his forehead to hers, he told her, “I cannot send you alone. I’ll arrange time to come with you. It’s past time I let Duncan have more responsibility.”  
He referred to the Captain of the Guard who would run Skyhold’s armies in his absence. He was a good man, so why did it feel like abandoning his Inquisitor? Still, she’d made her position clear. She wouldn’t feel he’d abandoned her.  
“Cullen, I wasn’t trying to make trouble. I….” He put a finger over her lips.  
“You will not do this for me. We will do this together.”  
His little elf smiled then, a brilliant, lit-from-within kind of smile. “Together. I’m not going to argue. I didn’t want to leave you anyway. Isn’t that odd?”  
He chuckled and said into the skin of her cheek. “Very odd indeed.”


	7. Chapter Seven

Falon watched patiently from the corner as her two students cast the spell that would mix the herbals into the treatment for withdrawal. It didn’t work for every Templar, they’d discovered, but it worked for many. The tower chamber which was now considered hers held a chill today. Hard winter was approaching.   
Cullen had been methodical and a bit obsessive in his preparations for their expedition come spring thaw. A storehouse in the courtyard held all the supplies they would take with them. She and Clemence had seen to the medical stores for the long months ahead. Meanwhile, Eliana exhausted herself with her search for Solas.   
“You are doing very well, Mirabella.” Encouraging words helped Mira better than any reprimand. “Once you’ve finished this batch, go get your supper. Jane, I’m reasonably certain you’ll find Stitches in the main hall.” The young mages giggled because they all knew the healer would be there waiting for Jane.   
Taking up her shawl, Falon walked the short distance between towers to her own. Cullen sat at his desk as was his habit in the late evening writing correspondence, his least favorite part of the job. He looked up for a moment with the secret smile that warmed her more thoroughly than a fire. She made it her habit not to interrupt him at this hour.   
They would merely exchange glances as she passed, and somehow it was more intimate than anything they’d ever done together. Most often, Cullen would work faster once he knew she was upstairs awaiting him. His nightmares were fewer since the Qunari had turned their attention to Tevinter. That was one enemy, at least, he could merely watch without having to engage. And, watch they did. Divine Victoria kept them pretty well apprised of the Quenari’s movements.   
Falon put on a tea kettle for later and made herself generally comfortable. Her stew was almost finished when a knock sounded from below. She listened closely putting the lid back on the pot. Cullen’s voice greeted someone else. She pulled the stew from the fire to cool, then pulled on her robe.   
At the top of the stairs, she heard a familiar sound. “So, where is my darling, Commander? I must see if she’s well cared for.”  
“Dorian!” She shouted down the stairs, then came running. “Where have you been?”  
She stumbled and paused at the bottom, for Dorian looked weary. It was the kind of weariness that went deep into blood and bone. “Dorian?”   
His skin was pale; his face gaunt. “Dorian,” she breathed uncertain what else to say, however she knew just what to do. Her magic glowed even as she reached for her friend and protector. She pulled the thin man into her arms dousing him in healing magic. In her arms, she felt him tremble, even as she met Cullen’s eyes over his shoulder.   
Dorian clutched her closer, seeming weak on his feet.   
“I came straight here. Didn’t even stop for food or rest. I can’t imagine why,” he buried his face in her shoulder.   
Her nursing instincts rose from within. “Ma Vhenan, send for a camp cot, would you? We’ll be having a guest.” She said nothing as her husband went to do her bidding. She only held her patient, healing him the way she only healed family.   
When some of Dorian’s color had returned, she said to him, “Let’s go get your supper while you tell me how you made it here in such a state.”  
“I’m more interested in all the gossip, Darling. What have you been doing with yourself in my absence?”  
“I can show you later if the snow holds off.”  
She settled Dorian in a chair by the fire and fetched him tea, to begin, laced with elfroot to aid the healing she’d given him already. He ate two bowls of stew before he declared himself completely healed. She heard Cullen’s heavy steps upon the stair then.   
“All done. How is your patient?”  
Dorian leaned back in the chair. “Very satisfied. I find myself extremely envious, Commander.”   
Cullen simply rolled his eyes. “I imagine you did it on purpose knowing she would fuss.”  
Dorian laughed. “Yes, it was almost worth it. Sera openly admits to feigning injury so ‘Darling will do that elfy thing she does’.”  
“Dorian, you had two broken ribs.”  
He slid his gaze guiltily up to meet that of his self-proclaimed second favorite elf. “I was hoping you’d missed that. I’m a good enough healer with soft tissue, but I am atrociously untalented at knitting bones.”  
“That doesn’t tell me how you got them.” She growled at him.  
Haunted thoughts filled his mind. “Tevinter is likely to fall to the Qun very soon. My family’s holdings are already gone.”  
She looked toward Cullen. “You were just saying you wondered where the Venatori had got off to.”  
Cullen nodded. “How are your wounds, man?”  
“Fine, thanks to our darling girl. But, if you don’t mind, I do think I’ll head to the cot, my friends. It’s two days of riding, fighting and little rest.” Mischievous sparks jumped in his eyes as he said, “I don’t suppose you could tuck me in, darling? Perhaps a lullaby?”  
Cullen growled. “Come, Pavus. Time for your patrol.” He kissed his wife with quite a bit of enthusiasm as he left making it clear that Dorian’s mad flirting irritated him. Falon laughed into his kiss at the two of them and their silly games. Her smile didn’t fade immediately.   
She caught Dorian watching her. “Oh, that is nice to see. You are indeed beautiful, darling, especially when you laugh like a well-adored woman.”  
Falon rested her hands on both hips. “Dorian Pavus, you do understand that I am not to be trifled with or distracted. You can’t do it. You don’t have the willpower that I do. Now, go lie down before you fall down, or did you think I missed that too?”  
“I take it back,” he said in feigned shock. “You’ve become matronly and unpleasant. What’s happened to you?”  
“I’m a healer now. Now, in your bed, and prepare to come clean in the morning. This is more than a war wound. I can feel it on your soul. Whatever has happened to you out there, this is home.”   
Rather than make yet another joke, Dorian grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I may remember that speech until I die. That was quite… touching, darling. You have changed. I will tell you when I’m ready. Only you.”  
“Very well. I can compromise.”  
Still worried, Falon blew out most of the candles and climbed into bed to await Cullen and Pavus. Dorian had been as tired as she’d suspected. He was already sleeping the sleep of the dead in the office below. 

Cullen brushed the snow from his shoulders and opened the door to the tower. It was darkness inside for a moment, and then magic flared to crash against a wall above his shoulder. Pavus went on the offensive, and Cullen had to give him the command to stop before Dorian became a late-night Mabari snack.   
“Maker, I’m… I apologize, Cullen.” Dorian looked haggard with his head in his hands. Cullen recognized the look. He’d worn it enough.   
“I understand, but it could have been Falon walking through this door.”  
“You’re right. Sweet Andraste, you’re right.”  
“What happened?” Cullen asked the question calmly now that his heart rate returned to normal. “Maleficarum,” he spoke the word in a whisper. “She had me two days before a soldier stumbled upon us and managed to kill her, more by luck than anything else really. He and I fought our way out of Tevinter. One agonizing inch at a time. But, I’m not… I’m not sleeping.”  
“You will,” Cullen assured him. “Eventually. I don’t know how much of my history you know, but I’ve been exactly where you are. Be honest with yourself about what you can take. That's the first step.”  
Dorian looked down at his hands. “And the second?”  
Cullen laughed and looked up at the stairs where Falon stood holding a staff. She stood ready in spite of her dislike of martial magic. “That’s step two. Choose life or death. That’s the only real choice.”  
“What’s happened?”  
“Just a nightmare, darling. Everything is fine now.” Her eyes traveled between the two men as she relaxed her stance and nodded. Cullen smiled as she left. “That woman would heal the whole world if she could.”  
“She’s like El in that way,” Dorian said. “We spend so much time fighting monsters. She makes me remember what we’re fighting to save: Healers, teachers, artists, the ones we love. What good is an empty world.” Dorian looked over at Cullen. “Do you suppose Solas feels the same?”  
Grim determination filled him. “Not about us,” he replied. “Perhaps he does for his elves, but I can’t forgive him. Not ever. He loved her, Dorian. That should have changed everything for him. If destroying the veil destroys her…? He’s not the man I believed him to be. Whatever his guilt over past actions, whatever his need to right a wrong he committed, I can’t forgive him for what he’s done to her in pursuit of some blind, unfeeling justice.”  
“I miss the days when bad guys were simple. Disgusting abominations that crawl out of the fade with their minions just to do evil. I could kill those all day.”  
Cullen slapped both knees. “On that point, we agree. Goodnight, Dorian. Will you be all right from here?” Dorian knew what he was asking.   
He nodded. “I think I will sit up a while. Perhaps read a good book.”  
“I’m afraid most of these are Falon’s research into lyrium,” Cullen told him with a chuckle.  
“That’s better perhaps. My sleepless night can at least be lost to the good. Rather more heroic than wetting my nappies over the past.”  
“Yet we all do it from time to time, my friend. If you didn’t, you would be less than you were meant to be, and we’ve all seen where that takes us.”  
“True enough. Thank you.”  
Cullen climbed the stairs to find Falon curled up on top of the covers with a single tear tracking her face. “What is it, darling? What’s wrong?” He pulled her from her place on the bed to run a hand over the tear.   
“Was I crying?” She asked as if she couldn’t tell. “I thought I was thinking.”  
“Dark thoughts, clearly.”  
“This tower has no privacy, Vhenan. I heard.”  
“He will heal. You know that. I have.”  
She shook her head. “I know he will. That’s not it.” She pulled away from him stiffly. “I hate that I am still this person. So scared and insecure after all this time with you, but I am. He can’t possibly have meant that, Cullen. About me, he can’t possibly have….”  
Ah, he thought. We come to it. “Do you believe I mean it?”  
“I believe you mean it, but I also believe Solas meant what he said to the Inquisitor. I believed the Champion when she said it would be all right. We all say things we believe at the time. Circumstances change.”  
“You met Danna? I didn’t know.”  
“She came to the alienage to find someone. Someone they all protected, a blood mage.” Her dark eyes grew distant. “They protected a blood mage because he was one of them, yet I was handed over to the circle. I lived among them, but somehow I wasn’t one of them.”  
Falon kept her voice low. It made the room seem smaller, more intimate, but Cullen reminded himself they weren’t alone. He wanted to make her believe him because he could see part of her didn’t think any of them would stand by her.   
“You fear that it’s happening again. That you live among us, but you aren’t really one of us?”  
She turned her face away. “It’s not that I don’t think you mean it.”  
“You think we’ll change.” Cullen felt that truth crash into him like a demon blast. She had no faith in him. In all fairness, she had no faith in anyone, but how could she not have faith in his feelings at the very least?  
“People change. I know that, but I can do something for the Inquisition. I’m close to Revelation. It’s just out of reach. There must be a way to suppress the lyrium and its effects.”  
Everything was in question, he realized. Her place here-in her mind- hinged on her ability to contribute. “Maker help me. I had no idea you felt this way. How mercenary we must all seem to you?”  
“Cullen….”  
He moved away from her. Anger cut through him as he paced the room. Instead of venting that anger at her, he reached for the fur of his coat again. He’d walk this off.   
It wasn’t as if she could help how she felt, but he didn’t know what would fix this. The hurt at her lack of faith in him cut to the quick.   
“Where are you going?”  
“I should inspect the patrols this week anyway. Don’t wait up.”  
He was down the stairs and opening the door before she could say a word. He needed distance. He needed to think. He knew her better than she knew herself. She wasn’t through running yet whatever she’d said to him, and damned if that didn't cut him the deepest.

Feast Day was quickly approaching, and Falon found herself roped into all of Josephine’s festivities. Cassandra was due to return, and Dorian appeared to have settled in as a regular resident, still helping out where he could. He traveled often with the Inquisitor. Bull and the Chargers still did their part, and sometimes picked up some mercenary work as guards.   
Thedas had healed. Commerce and travel were nearly back to normal. Refugees were slowly trickling back into the countryside as the demons were hunted back into obscurity. The only cloud on the horizon was the fact that they expected to hear Tevinter had fallen any day.   
Light snow and wind were common over the last weeks, and the mountain had become impassable for the most part. There would be no more caravans until the weather broke.   
Today, Josie had wrangled greenery for the main hall, and Falon was part of the work crew who would hang it along the walls. Around her, others sang and laughed. There were general merriment and good cheer, but it didn’t touch Falon at all.   
The last two weeks had been one long test of endurance. Cullen had grown distant, and she had no one but herself to blame. She couldn’t even be angry with him for working late and avoiding her. She’d known better, known not to reveal too much. He couldn’t know about the dreams that constantly dogged her in sleep. She couldn’t tell him what she feared, that the day she’d feared was upon her.   
So, she’d thrown herself into her own work. The Templars who wanted to be free of the Chantry for good had trickled in as word spread of her success. Lyrium seemed to change the men in some physical way, but she and Clemence had found a couple of potions that helped to alleviate the symptoms of anxiety and pain in particular.   
She believed there to be a component of the mind as well, and the men were encouraged to talk to each other. Support seemed to do almost as much good as the medicine. In fact, a few of her patients were among the workers in the hall. She watched as they jostled each other and laughed openly. Their progress was truly satisfying.   
Other than Cullen’s distance, her life at Skyhold was the first time Falon felt truly satisfied. Her work had become important to the entire castle, not just to her. It kept her motivated, and she expected the expedition in spring to yield more results in the study of lyrium. All of her investigations pointed to lost knowledge in the deep roads beneath Valamar where a wealthy Dwarven patron had founded a center for the sharing of knowledge outside the memories of the shaperate. He’d apparently not believed the leadership should have such a stranglehold on history. She believed that Dwarf, whose name was long since lost or possibly erased, had been convinced that the exchange of knowledge would bring peace among dwarfs and with other races, though it hadn’t been a popular opinion at the time.   
Her heart thudded to an almost standstill as Cullen, with his eyes glued to a report handed him by a messenger, strode through the main hall headed for the war room. It wasn’t unusual to go unnoticed in the great hall when there were decisions to be made. Falon ignored the heavy thud thud in her chest that preceded the need to run and hide.   
She’d promised, despite the fact that it might kill her, that she would stay to the end. Therefore, here she stood until he sent her on her way. She had a plan for the day when that inevitably happened. She knew where she’d go and what she’d do to protect Cullen from a terrible choice. Until then, she wanted to soak in the feeling of belonging. of being part of something. She wanted to feel everything she could in preparation for the day when she would feel nothing.   
Eyes on her drew her attention and Falon turned to smile at Dorian. He appeared less gaunt now that he’d been among friends for a while. He looked at her with that speculative look he reserved for those moments when he was puzzling out a mystery. She sighed. There was an element of the fishbowl living in Skyhold.   
He approached as Falon pulled a wreath of greenery out of a crate. “So, I was thinking we focus on my god-daughter first. Boys can be so crass, you see. I really think you’d do best to begin with a girl.”  
“Dorian, what are you on about?”  
He took one end of the floral piece and lifted it to the mantle above the roaring fire. Falon grew warm this near the thing. He continued, “I just hope you and the Commander realize I’m not getting any younger. Children require energy.”  
“Hmm, you might not get any older at this rate.”  
He turned and leaned on the mantle, arms crossed. “Oh, well that’s settled it. He’s gone and truly fouled everything, hasn’t he? Well, it was inevitable. He is, after all, himself. What has he done?”  
The pressure in her chest felt ready to pop. “Dorian, please.”  
She reached for the large tapers that would adorn the mantle as well and placed them carefully. She ignored Dorian for all she was worth.   
“I mean,” he went on. “Look at the man, he’s practically insufferable as it is. I shudder at the thought of actually caring what he thinks or what he does. Andraste, I imagine he sleeps in gauntlets.”  
“Stop it!” She closed her eyes tightly. Falon didn’t yell… at anyone. Dorian was just going for a reaction. It was what he did, and she’d given him just what he wanted. “Dorian, I’m begging you. Just stop this, please.”   
With that, she ran away with all eyes on her back as she left the Hall.


	8. Chapter Eight

Cullen wondered absently where she’d got off to, but he didn’t go looking. No matter how much he wanted to make things right with her, he never sought her out, and perhaps, it had been too long, he realized.  
He’d let the wound fester.   
The door to his tower office slammed open as the guard followed Dorian Pavus in apologizing profusely. “It’s fine, Hall. Resume your post. Dorian, close the door if you would. The morning has a chill to it today.”  
Dorian’s jaw tightened. “Yes, it does, you sodding idiot.”  
Cullen’s attention snapped back to the mage who, he realized now, shook with anger. “I take it I’ve done something very wrong indeed.”  
“Yes, you slack-jawed druffalo, you have… indeed.”  
Cullen met the man’s eyes. “What is it? As if I couldn’t guess.”  
The mage paced in front of Cullen’s desk. “You did it. I warned you not to, and you did it anyway. She’s quite heartbroken. Quite.”  
“We’re speaking of Falon.”  
Dorian stormed toward him as if he wanted to do violence. “Yes, we are speaking of Falon! Are you so stupid that you can’t grasp what you’ve thrown away?”  
“You are a bit too invested in my marriage for my taste, Dorian.”  
“What marriage? You might sleep in the same room, but you left her weeks ago. Her face flares with her every emotion, Commander. The entire hold is talking of it. The elf and the human. How it wasn’t meant to be. And, she hears every word.” Dorian clenched his fists. “Your marriage means nothing to me. It’s your wife I’m invested in.”   
Cullen felt the jealousy he normally shrugged off savage him now. It was his turn to advance on the mage. “That seems unwise.”  
“Why? You are clearly finished with her.”  
The blow was struck before Cullen even realized he’d thrown it. Dorian lay on the ground clutching his jaw and glaring up at him. “You will stay away from my wife!”  
“I’m surprised to see you’re still invested in your marriage,” Dorian said with less venom now. He rose cautiously. “Something is very wrong with her, and you’re an imbecile if you can’t see it. Do something.”  
Feeling caged in the small tower room, Cullen prowled himself. “You don’t think I’ve tried? Of course, I see it! I’m frankly shocked she’s still here.” His voice trailed away as he kicked the neatly stacked woodpile with one foot absently. One hand rested on the shelf, as he fought a war within himself for control.   
“She watches me sometimes, you know. Thinks I don’t see her. As if I’m going to disappear.”  
“I have news for you, soldier. You already have. She knows it. I know it. So, it appears she is correct.” Dorian’s cluck of disgust hit him in the gut. “She’s just watching your shade dispel. And, as for your infantile jealousy, I’m in love with someone else, and she sees only you.”   
He listened to the opening and slamming of the door. Dorian Pavus was a pain in the ass. Especially when he was absolutely right. Falon needed him, and he’d been absent. Lost in his own fear and wounded pride.

Falon stepped into the seeker’s room hesitantly. Cassandra stood there surprised to see her of all people. They’d barely exchanged two words. Not because they hadn’t wanted to, she believed. They were just very different people.   
“How is your mission?” Falon asked to break the tension in the room.   
“It’s doing well. I’ve gathered a few of the seekers, though there are not many left. We are recruiting.”  
Falon drew in a deep breath. “I have a question. Do the seeker’s employ tranquil in their service?”  
“They do. Why do you ask?”  
This was the moment she finally had to say the thought out loud. “I may need somewhere to go when… and I’m anxious to continue working on the problem of lyrium. I don’t want to give up my work. It’s all I… It’s important. Would the seeker’s consider funding and supporting such work?”  
Cassandra wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I understand. You aren’t tranquil. Do you ask for Clemence?”  
“No,” she sighed. “When the day comes, I am going to ask to become tranquil.”  
“When the day… What are you talking about?”  
“We are set to leave for Bronin Cross in a few days. Once I’ve located the Dwarven library, I think… I think I will need…. I will need a new purpose.”  
Cassandra put one hand on the desk as if to steady herself. “Does Cullen know about this?”  
Falon shook her head. “He will know I am leaving.”  
“I don’t believe this is quite the same thing. Where is this coming from, if I may be so bold?”  
“Seeker, I have never trusted my magic, and after… things are concluded here, I think it best if there be no questions of my being a danger to others.”  
“This is an unusual request. May I ask… what is happening that makes you feel this is necessary?”  
“Cullen and I… He’s become distant. How much has he told you of my history?”  
“I know only that you were an apostate. He’s told me very little.”  
“My harrowing was difficult. The First Enchanter nearly released the Templars to do their duty. Orsino had concerns about the time I spent in the fade. It was significant it seems. As for myself, it made me wary of my own nature.”  
Cassandra watched her carefully a moment, then said, “I have been in the fade. At Adamant. I’ve often wondered how mages can willingly walk into it.”  
“Most are unwilling, Seeker. While I am sure many mages are only too pleased to enter the fade, it was not that way for me certainly.”  
Cassandra closed her eyes a moment, “Was your experience truly awful?”  
“Seeker, I’m not certain my harrowing is truly over, but I don’t want Cullen to know about this. Were he to know, he would intervene or try to. When I do this, it has to be without his knowledge.”  
Cassandra sat up straighter. “What do you mean ‘not certain it’s over’?”  
“I’m dreaming again. Of the fear demon.” She choked back her tears. They wouldn’t help her now. “It is impossible to know if it’s real or if it’s my own fear of the experience. It feels real. I would rather not risk Cullen or any of you.”   
Horror showed in Cassandra’s face. “You cannot believe you are becoming an …. That’s not possible.”  
“An abomination, and it is. It can happen. It does happen.” She sighed softly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to burden you with this in light of your friendship with him. He can’t… He just can’t be there if it happens. You must promise me, if I run out of time, that you will ensure that he isn’t the one….”  
The other woman held up a hand. “You need have no fear there. I will make absolutely certain that he doesn’t have that decision to make.”  
Falon felt a knot untie in her chest. “Thank you,” she breathed in relief for the first time in days. “Thank you. He’s angry at me right now, but he won’t always be.”  
Doing her best to avoid the pitying look Cassandra gave her, she stood and shuffled for the door relieved to finally be done with this particular chore. “Falon,” Cassandra said as she walked to the door. “Do not stop fighting. The world would be a darker place without you.”  
Their eyes met, and Falon nodded. “I will try” was all she said before slipping out of the converted room above the armory. The next conversation would be that much harder for her.   
She needed someone with a unique understanding of her problem.

*  
Dorian sat in the corner of the main hall holding a small court of admirers. Falon approached him with caution. He looked content if not happy. He enjoyed the attention and deserved it, truth be told. She hated that she would likely ruin his good mood.   
“Darling! Come. Stephan here just opened a lovely wine.”  
She smiled at the merry group of revelers. “I need to talk with you a moment if I may, Dor. It’s important.”  
“And cannot, of course, wait until tomorrow.” He smiled at her teasingly but lost that gleam in his eyes as he saw the seriousness of her own. Without looking away from her face, he said to Stephan, “I’ll return anon. Finish my wine, would you? No need to let it get tired. My darling girl has her sad face on this evening. Won’t be a moment.”  
She led him toward the now vacant hallway that led to the war room. A light snow drifted in through the large gap still present in the stones of the wall. She watched as the flakes sparkled in a weak stream of moonlight. “Do you suppose they’ll ever get that patched?” she wondered aloud.   
Dorian leaned on the wall looking at her in puzzlement. “What is it, darling?”  
“I have a secret, Dor, and I need your promise that you will tell no one.”  
“You have my word. You know that. What is it?”  
She turned her back, unable to watch his opinion of her change. “I am slipping. Since my harrowing, I have been plagued by dreams of the demon who… the demon…,” she faltered.   
He straightened, then moved into sight. She took a deep breath and let it out again watching the mist it created curl and dance before her. “I have begun having the dreams again, and I’m tired. It’s a fear demon, and one day it may win. It will win, Dorian. No one can resist this kind of thing forever. You and I know this.”  
“I know no such thing,” he ground out. “What’s a fear demon to you? Less than nothing.”  
She shook her head. “No platitudes, Dor. I’ve asked Cassandra to help me. After the expedition, once I’ve found what I’m looking for, she will make me tranquil. She has a way.”  
He would be so angry, and she braced herself for his storm. Instead, when she looked at him, she saw utter sadness, even in the tiny curl upwards of his lip. “I think I was too hard on Curly after all.” He rested a hand upon cold stone and stared upward at the serene sky above. “I know you, love. You didn’t reveal this to no purpose. What did you want?”  
“I want you to accompany us to the crossroads to… I am begging, in case you wondered. I need you to kill me if I were to turn. I need you to protect him. Please, Dorian. I would do this for you. Please. You have no idea what it is to be monstrous. Please.”  
A strangled sound emerged from his lips. “Haven’t I? You want me to kill my best friend, that’s all. Nothing to it.”  
She cocked her head. “I thought I was your second favorite elf.”  
The censuring look he threw at her chilled her more than the weather seeping in the walls. “I am coming,” he announced. “You’ll need to be saved from yourself. That much is obvious.”  
“Cullen doesn’t know this.”  
“Of course, he doesn’t, you madwoman. If he did, you’d already be locked in a tower where you couldn’t bake up preposterous solutions to the situation. As it is, he merely suspects your insanity.”  
His soft words struck her like fists. “I’m sorry to ask this of you. I doubt that matters much in the scheme of things, but I am sorry.” She reached up to kiss his cheek and whisper, “You’re my best friend, too.”  
“Well, you can’t be expected to resist me. Now, would it do any good to tell you to talk to Cullen?”  
She frowned.   
“Yes, I thought so,” he said. “Well, I’m glad you told me anyway, and, Falon, it will take more than a demon to destroy you. You know that?”  
She smiled at him without meeting his gaze. “I’m going to try at least. That’s all I can promise.”

*  
She heard the office door open and shut soundly against the oncoming storm. She’d already left tea and cookies on Cullen’s desk before going to bed. She quickly reached over to snuff the candle by the bedside and pretend to be asleep.   
It was cowardly, but she couldn’t stand that distant, troubled look on his face. She couldn’t take the hurt she saw mirrored in him. He suspected she was hiding something from him, and still, she couldn’t bring herself to burden him with the knowledge that she had become vulnerable to the demon once again.   
She turned on her side under the thick covers, lying still and hoping he’d not seek her out just yet. He didn’t come immediately to bed, so she let herself relax and prayed to the creators for a night of good sleep; a sleep untroubled by dreams of the Fade.   
It didn’t come, and she was fully aware as he prepared himself for bed. When he finally slipped into bed behind her, she inhaled deeply as his hand stole across her waist. He hauled her against him and whispered in her ear, “I’m not giving you up.”  
She stilled. Terror crowded her chest, made her swallow hard. Had she judged her friends wrong? Had they told him?  
Falon clutched at the hand on her abdomen. “We don’t know what’s coming, Cullen.”  
“Whatever comes, I’m not letting you go.”  
Emotion swelled, choking off words. A sob escaped, then another. He gently turned her in his arms and kissed her face. She cried as someone held her for the first time in her life. She didn’t have to run anymore, but would she survive what came next?  
It was that night that the dream grew worse.

*  
Mages saw the Fade as it was. She knew as soon as she fell asleep that she was in a familiar part of the Fade. Around her, there were pieces of Skyhold. It looked a ruin. The tower room walls crumbled about her like children’s blocks.   
She was alone and thankful for it.   
It was worst when the demon took Cullen’s face. The feeling of it slithered up her skin like the touch of a snake. She’d always know it wasn’t Cullen from the coldness of expression, the utter lack of humanity in the eyes, but it didn’t make it any easier to take.   
She waited in the Fade, sitting on the side of a ruined bed. She waited to see what brought her here, and it wasn’t long. As smoke wafted through the door, she saw that the demon at least wore its true face. It was her most primal fear made flesh.   
A man stood there in the doorway with his face horribly melted as though made of candle wax and flames leaped from his arms and shoulders. He burned, and yet he smiled bitterly at her.   
“Why do you resist me?” He asked her. He asked as though completely baffled by her strength of purpose.   
“Because I must,” she answered him.   
“That is such a pointless kind of pain, Dearest.” He smiled at her almost fondly. “Won’t you just accept what I offer? You could be safe with my power. Think about it. To never fear loss again? What wouldn’t you give for that?”  
She said nothing.   
“Or perhaps I wear the wrong face?” Her heart sped as she focused straight ahead. She would not look. She would not see him. Cullen’s voice continued, “Would I reject you as he would? Perhaps it’s only his pretty face you care about. Is that it, darling?”  
She hissed, “Do not call me that!”  
“She responds!” He laughed and it was Cullen’s laugh, yet it wasn’t. He was red-eyed and terrifying in his familiarity. That was the trouble with the Fade. It was so easy to become confused.   
This demon, in particular, seemed to want her cooperation. He wanted her willing and terrified enough to turn to him. That could never happen, especially while he wore Cullen’s face. There was something about Cullen Rutherford this demon couldn’t imitate. It helped to ground her thoroughly in reality.   
He drew nearer her. “What would you do to …say… protect this bag of bones?”  
Her vision went a little red, a bit blank. Ice formed in her left hand, fire in the right. “What did you say?”  
The demon smiled as if highly amused. “I’m just thinking aloud. Everything is an exchange. How much might I take if I knew what you valued? You clearly value the commander. What would you give to protect him?”  
Falon felt something snap inside. “That’s an easy ask. I’d give my life, but I think we’ll begin instead with yours.”  
She loosed both spells at him, even as he smiled, and disappeared while uttering the word interesting. Falon shook as she stood in the cold Fade. She wasn’t one to lie to herself. He would be back, and she had to find a way to be ready.   
Afraid now for Cullen, she called a portal and stepped through.


	9. Chapter Nine

The Deep Roads. 

Falon wrapped herself deeper into her shawl as the party moved through the chasm. She hadn’t been expecting it to be so … huge. She grew dizzy when she looked down over the edge. The air underground held a sharp chill as she followed behind the men packing all their gear for the trip.   
She herself had a small cart to pull along behind her for gathering samples and transporting her finds as they progressed through the ruins. Dwarven society had built on a massive scale in these tunnels. It made her wonder how many dwarves had once peopled these caverns.   
She’d brought two mage healers with her to aid in her search. The three of them would take turns with the small cart as it filled with samples and supplies. Cullen and Dorian were at the head of the column as they pushed ahead. She’d hardly had any time to talk with either man on their way through the Hinterlands.   
The vaults and the halls there at the entrance would be their camp for the night, and a small contingent of soldiers would be left behind to guard the entrance. Campfires and spits were set up in the open cavern near the long stone bridge. Benches were placed around the fire.   
Falon pulled the cart to the end of the bridge and then out of the way before removing the large strap from around her chest and placing it on top of the empty containers in the cart. “Jane, find out where the Commander wants us to camp. I’m sure they have a location in mind.”  
Jane headed off to obtain direction, and Master Tomas gestured to the fire. “Why don’t you sit a moment, lady? I’ll scout the area for samples.”  
She smiled at the young man. “Thank you,” she said. “One crate of mushroom only, I think. We don’t need a tremendous amount for the testing, just enough to facilitate the reaction.”  
He acknowledged her and bowed respectfully before heading off to examine the rocks nearby. She wished again the mage students wouldn’t bow to her as if she were an enchanter. No amount of protest stopped them though. She’d mostly given up.   
“Master Dorian is setting up your camp, lady,” Jane informed her as she returned. “We’re to be in the vault apparently.”  
She smiled at Jane. “Of course we are. It can be secured from either side, I imagine.” She shook her head. Cullen would never stop protecting her. She followed Jane through the first large chamber where a fire was already lit. They walked through a large door set in an open position into an only slightly smaller cavern long emptied of its treasures. Dorian was inside unrolling the bedding. There was no fire here because the space room was smaller with little ventilation.   
“Darling,” Dorian said with just the touch of an edge. “I’ll need to remember to get our Dwarven friend from Kirkwall a special gift, something that repays him for this lovely trip into every nightmare of my life. This place reeks of death.” She paused as she processed that outburst.  
“Wait a moment, Dor. You trained as Mortalitasi. How does death bother you at all?”  
He frowned. “Do I strike you as the typical death mage? I’ve learned the arts I wanted, not the morbid traditions. It’s not raising the dead, after all, not really. I’m very practical about death. My view is that it’s always less preferable than life.”  
“That is extremely practical.”  
“Well,” he sighed. “As long as you’re all here no sense in doing this all on my own. Let’s set up our camp, boys and girls.” Slapping his two hands together, Dorian seemed to almost enjoy the next portion of the evening; Supervising.

Everyone sought their beds early that night since it would be the last night they’d need not worry about darkspawn. While this abandoned portion of the deep roads drew less of the tainted ones than other parts, it was likely she’d end up confronting some of the nasty creatures farther down.  
Falon curled up in the makeshift tent Dorian had fashioned. Cullen’s bedroll remained empty, but tonight it didn't taunt her as their empty bed had. She yawned and cuddled into the pillow.   
Dorian.   
Her instinct to heal kept cropping up when he was near, and he’d yet to tell her what had happened. She suspected Cullen knew after the night of the nightmare. He would only tell his story when he could, she knew that, however, in the meantime, she was going to have to control her healing impulses. Falon felt as though she could sleep for a decade. She drifted off into a thankfully dreamless sleep as the sounds of the camp settled around her. 

She woke in Cullen’s arms. He’d held her close for days as if he feared he’d wake up and she’d be gone. Meat roasted over one of the campfires outside. The tantalizing smell hit her senses forcing her stomach to growl beneath Cullen’s hand.   
He chuckled softly behind her.   
“You’re awake?” She peeked over her shoulder at him; sleepy-eyed and slightly dangerous looking in his disheveled state. She’d never seen him as the actual soldier before, only as the leader of armies. This was Cullen the Templar. She shivered in the cool air of the cavern.  
“You are cold,” he said. “I’d hoped I’d be enough to keep the chill out.” His comment was made wryly, but the undercurrent hit her in his words. He was nothing if not a subtle man. Falon turned into his chest and cuddled up.   
Petting his chest with one hand, she said, “You always are. Will we make the cross today?”  
He shook his head. “No, we’ll camp again in a large cavern near about a half day’s march from the cross. We suspect it will be infested, so the infantry will go in first to clean it out.”  
“In other words, today will be a long day.” She pressed herself against him. He smelled of woodsmoke and leather. “I don’t want to leave the tent. Is that wrong?”  
He chuckled, but it wasn’t mirthful this time as his hand ran sensually along the small of her back. “Yes, this was your mission, remember? No lazing about for the command.” She smiled as it was clear he was lecturing himself as much as her.   
Wickedly tempted to get a reaction, she did it again. “I hadn’t a thought in my head about lazing.”  
He groaned, and she was delighted. “You minx,” he scolded. “Don’t you love to tease.”  
She did. There was no sense in denying it. “And you love it.”  
He couldn’t argue that truth either, so he just pulled her tighter to him and kissed her good morning. “Now,” he said when he’d finished. “We’d best get going.”  
“Work. Work. Work. You’re becoming a bit of a tease yourself, Rutherford.”  
“Perhaps milady will learn her lesson,” he snickered in her ear.  
They parted ways after a short breakfast together. Cullen intended to lead the scouting team and supervise the clearing of the campsite. Falon met her own team at the wagon which now had a good supply of mushrooms, thanks to Tomas’ efforts no doubt.   
She rubbed a hand to her temple and fought back a wave of unease and strangely … nausea. Jane informed her, “We’re ready to leave, mistress.” Her apprentice looked Falon over carefully. “Are you well, miss?”  
Skyhold’s circle operated independently and didn’t behave as other circles did. Oh, how Eliana and Madame de Fer had fought over that one; like cats and dogs that night. With Lady Vivienne departing that next morning for her own work in reorganizing the circle, they’d had a much-discussed falling out.   
She much preferred El’s vision. The Skyhold circle allowed for collaboration and teamwork. Masters and apprentices were more like a teacher and student should be. One of the flaws of the Kirkwall circle had been the overreach of authority until no place was safe for those without the power of their own. In that kind of environment, abuse was sure to thrive.   
So here at Skyhold, she was merely Mistress Rutherford, a teacher, and a healer. Jane had bundled up warmly, and Falon remembered absently that she was from a warmer clime.   
“You seem off, Mistress. Can I get you something?”  
Falon came back from her thoughts, shook her head wryly, and smiled at the girl. “No, I’m woolgathering. My stomach is a bit unsettled. Do we have any bread?”  
Jane nodded. “I’ll just chew on a bit of that for a while.” The girl went to a bag and tore off a bit of bread to hand it to Falon who thanked her immediately. Breakfast just wasn’t settling.   
Always observant, Master Tomas stood from putting out the fire. “I’ll pull the cart this morning.”  
It was kind. She smiled at him and patted his arm. “Thank you, my friend. This will pass, and I will take the next turn.”  
The second half of the expedition’s force, those involved making camp, moved out an hour after the bulk of the force. Falon found herself picking her way through the dank, dusty caverns carefully. They marched a bit before a cry echoed down the line, “Bodies!”  
They slowed, and as she passed through, she saw that Cullen’s team had been hard at work this morning. Several darkspawn had been stacked out of the way to allow the wagon’s space. That was why they’d slowed. The head of the train had moved the darkspawn.   
Falon struggled to hold onto her breakfast as they passed the stench. Covering her nose with a handkerchief she carried in her pouch, she stepped carefully around the pile.   
The march continued until they could hear fighting ahead. “Cullen,” she whispered. The cavern echoed with the sounds of the fight. Men shouted instructions, and the tittering sounds of giant spiders resounded all the way back to the civilian section of the train.   
Worry gnawed at her as the wagons stopped to wait for the fighting to end. It took far too long. She felt impatience batter her insides as they finally began moving forward. Spider corpses were piled high in a corner. The nest had been massive.   
As Tomas, who’d refused to give her the wagon over the course of the day, pulled them through the wide cavern’s entrance tunnel. They saw the soldiers had already set up a perimeter, and a makeshift triage was already underway for the wounded. She looked to her apprentice.   
“Jane, you will need to set up our camp. Tomas and I must treat wounded.”  
“Yes, mistress,” she answered. Falon rushed toward the surgeon’s tent. She could hear Cullen’s complaints from inside.   
“It’s nothing but a scratch.”  
Pulling back the tent flap, she pinned the group with her teacher’s glare, a highly effective tool in the war against stupidity. “I’m sorry. I thought I heard a child crying. My mistake.”  
Cullen turned slowly, annoyed at her sarcasm. The medic and his attache both covered their mouths to hide their amusement. “Was that really necessary?”  
“I thought so,” she said with false gaiety. “Now, let me see it.”  
He cradled his right arm. His sword arm. “I’ll be fine. There are far worse wounded.”  
“All right, if that’s true. I’ll take the Commander, Barrow. You see to the men.”  
With a bright smile, the medic grabbed her bag and left the tent, taking everyone else with her, including Tomas. “Let me see.” It was not a request.   
He sighed and removed the bandage on his forearm. It was deep. “Any chance of poison?”  
“No,” he grimaced as she probed the wound looking for debris she would need to remove before closing it.   
“Plenty of chance for infection though. Where are Barrow’s tools?” She turned her head and scanned the tent. There. She picked up the tray and disinfecting solution. Falon wasted no time and had no mercy.   
She probed at the injury, removing a couple of pebbles. “I take it you were hurled at some point.”  
He gritted his teeth. “An emissary at the perimeter. We weren’t expecting darkspawn.”  
“Weren’t expecting darkspawn? In the deep roads?” She raised her eyes from the wound and dropped another shard into the metal dish nearby.   
“Why do I suddenly feel like a schoolboy back at my lessons?”  
“I don’t know. Why were you acting a child and refusing treatment?” She didn’t wait for his answer as she used the disinfection solution. Liberally.   
“Perhaps because I knew I would soon be in the loving hands of my wife,” he gritted out as the solution did its work.   
“Serves you right. Next time, let Barrow do her job, Commander. I might not always be here. You can’t risk your life this way as a matter of habit. You have a surgeon for a reason.”  
His left hand reached out, even as Falon’s began to glow with healing magic. “This seems excessive. What’s the matter?”  
She ran her hand over the wound watching it knit closed. “Stubborn.” She continued without another word until the arm was fully healed. “Why would you wait for me, Cullen? That’s reckless.”  
He pulled her between his legs on the table. “I’ve been wounded before, Falon. I knew it wasn’t poisoned. This isn’t my first fight. Barrow has other things to do.” His soft words reached her but didn’t make her feel better because she was thinking about the time coming when he wouldn’t have her, when someone else, or worse no one at all, would heal the wounds and soothe the nightmares. She confronted the possibility that he would be on his own again, and it burned going down; like bad medicine.   
The white glow at her hands didn’t stop when the wound healed. Cullen lifted his left hand to run it through the glow of mana drifting from her fingers. “Do you know what this feels like?”  
“I probably feel it differently.” She watched his strong hand play in the flow of magic leaving her body. The tent became smaller at the intimate act.  
His voice dropped an octave as he said, “Sometimes it’s warm sunshine. When you’re afraid or upset, it’s a touch, a caress. Why are you afraid, darling?”  
She pressed herself into his arms, saying little. “You are important, Cullen. You must never forget that and act accordingly. It’s not just self-sacrifice anymore.” She pulled back. “Now, you’re sacrificing me as well.”  
His face appeared stunned. “I hadn’t thought…,” he stammered. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Falon. You are absolutely right. I am a soldier. There is risk involved, however, you are right that I cannot be reckless anymore. I apologize for frightening you unnecessarily.”  
She shook her head. He didn’t owe her an apology, but she couldn’t tell him why she was truly afraid this moment without relaying her plan to become tranquil. So she simply pulled his lips to hers and kissed him until he forgot what they were saying. This would be all she would have of him.  
The campsite went up quickly, and Falon wandered her way back to Jane and Tomas where they had a small fire going and tea brewing. Tomas handed her a steaming cup of heaven. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I think I want to take another look at the compendium.”  
She pulled the tent flap back and found that her trunk of books was waiting beside Cullen’s, and a table with maps resting on it in disarray had been set up this time. She pulled out the massive Dwarven tome that had led her to the library in the first place.   
There had been a particularly intriguing map in the section detailing Bronin’s struggles that seemed to lead to more of the secret knowledge he believed should be shared. There was a word in there. It bothered her enough that she struggled to find the accurate translation. It was almost as though he’d made up the word, but she couldn’t, of course, know that.   
So much of what had led her to the deep roads was guessing. She sighed and sipped the sweet tea in her cup, losing herself in the words on the page and her search for answers.   
The tent flap pulled back with Cullen’s audible sigh. “I knew I would find you in your books.” He placed a tray of food before her. “You must eat, darling. Jane is supposed to be reminding you.”  
Falon glared at him. “She’s my apprentice, Cullen, not my mother. I sent her to obtain a small sample of ichor for our potions. She needs practice with creature harvesting. I doubt she’ll ever be truly easy with it. Her stomach isn’t strong. Neither is mine today apparently.”  
“You’ve been ill?”   
She rolled her eyes. Leave it to Cullen to latch onto that part, she thought. “I’ve been just a little queasy. Nothing is wrong. I’m perfectly fine.”  
He put the back of his hand to her cheek. “You don’t feel warm.”  
“See.” She went back to her book, but Cullen reached over and closed it as she gave him a soft glare.  
“Eat.”  
She indulged him and found that the food did indeed help. She ate and watched as Cullen slowly got comfortable; down to his shirtsleeves, rolling them up as he stared absently at the map now pinned to the desk. A messenger had been in briefly with a scout report from Harding.   
Cullen frowned as he looked it over. “Harding’s cleared darkspawn from the cross tunnels.”  
“That troubles you?”  
“Coupled with the ones we killed today. Yes, it does.” He sighed. “It’s too many. Something might be drawing them here.” He looked at her. “In the absence of a blight, or an impending one, you shouldn’t find darkspawn in the more traveled sections of tunnel, and while this is an abandoned road as far as the Dwarves are concerned, it has had plenty of traffic since the red lyrium trade Corypheus began. They should be avoiding these roads. I don’t like it.”  
She finished her dinner with a flourish. “There you are, Commander. My task is done.”  
“So obedient,” he murmured her way with a grin.   
“I don’t know if you noticed, Commander, but I chose tonight’s camp location… for privacy.”  
No longer staring at his map in that distracted way, he focused on her with interest. “You don’t say. Why did you feel a need for privacy, my love?”  
“A hopeful impulse?”  
He smiled. “Come here.”


	10. Chapter Ten

Falon groaned as she opened her eyes.   
The Fade. The Gods-damned Fade.   
Built around the surrounding ruins, she stood in the same cavern she slept in, but here in the Beyond, it was not empty of spiders. She began firing at every set of red eyes she could see. Her staff had manifested with her. She’d been working on a wall of ice and it protected her from behind as she fought off the nest of bloodthirsty creepers who were determined she would be their bedtime snack.   
This wasn’t a coincidence. Of course, the demon would find her, and she’d have him to contend with when he did. She wondered, not for the first time if this demon even had a name. She needed to know who the enemy was.   
Falon threw spell after spell until the spiders lay curled up around her. When a sudden fog rolled in, putrid and thick, she thought she saw movement and threw out a fire mine in front of her. As the figure took form, she gasped at the disturbing sight of Cullen walking through the Fade toward her.   
She found herself happy to see him. He was here, and that would mean she was safe. Cullen was safety. “Darling,” he said in his usual greeting. “I’ve missed you so.”  
“Cullen, we must go. You can’t be here.”  
“Whatever does that mean?” he asked her as he pulled her into his arms neatly avoiding her staff. “Practicing again, I see.”  
“No, no, I was.” She thought hard. What had she been doing? “I was… fighting spiders?” Was that right?  
He leaned down and kissed her temple. “You smell wonderful. Like summer storms and chaos.”  
She relaxed into his hold. “Mmmm, I’m so tired, Cullen. It feels as though I’ve overdone.”  
“You have, my love. You have.”   
She pulled away. “Something is wrong, Cullen. You can’t be here.”  
“Darling, we’re home. In our own home. You’ve just had a busy day.”  
“We’re not home.” A bell rang out in her head like the old chantry tower in Kirkwall. That was wrong. “No, I’m underground. We’re in the deep roads.”  
The fog lifted. Cullen’s eyes took on a harsher edge. “Well, you are something rather impressive, aren’t you?” He paced around her looking more like a predator all the time.   
“Not Cullen,” she breathed in a sigh of relief. “Who are you?”  
“I am Illusion.”  
“You certainly felt real. What are you?”  
“I didn’t say I am an illusion, silly. I said I am Illusion.”  
She closed her eyes a moment, and whispered, “The demon.”  
“Yes.” His eyes glowed red now in Cullen’s face, and she sobbed. “Pretty lies are my stock in trade, and yours is to glow brighter than all the stars. Do you know how brightly you shine, my lovely? I simply must have you.” He ran a finger over her jawline.  
Her magic leaped to her palm in an instant. Falon shouted, “No!” Then shoved her burning palm straight into the demon’s chest, Cullen’s chest. She watched him catch fire for a split second. That beloved face twisted in pain she’d caused and it almost distracted her. The cavern doorway was now a purple shimmering portal, and she flew at it, falling through in a heartbeat.   
She woke in the tent sobbing, gasping for breath. “Falon!”  
Cullen’s face hovered before her, and, more shame to her, she flinched, pulled away. “Falon, what is it? Darling, I’m here. I’m here.”  
She struggled with his hand on her wrist a moment. “Falon, don’t call magic. It’s Cullen.”  
“Cullen. It had your face. He had your face.”  
Cullen breathed in deeply as if he’d been struck. “Oh, my sweet girl. I’m so sorry.” He tugged her solidly into his arms holding her steady against his own racing heart. “I’m sorry. I’ve… I know the horror of that.” His words choked off as he buried his face in her neck.   
A noise sounded outside and the tent flap pulled back. “It’s me,” Dorian’s voice whispered. “Is she all right?”  
Falon sobbed harder into Cullen’s shirt, feeling the rumble of his words as he told Dorian. “I have her. She’ll be fine.”  
She heard Dorian’s sad sigh from her bed. “We’ll discuss it in the morning, darling.”  
She nodded, praying to the creators that he would leave it there. “All of us.”  
Cullen’s hand cupped the back of her head. “Something you’ve been keeping from me?”  
Falon let her heartbreak have a voice. What did it matter at this point? They would all hurt when this was done. She’d just wanted to spare him some of it. Just a little.   
She should have realized it would come out in the deep roads with all of them packed together in small spaces for days and days. There would be no hiding it now.   
Thankfully, Cullen didn’t press. He just nodded to Dorian and rocked her in his arms. She could sense his frustration, but he didn’t press. Something she would be grateful for in the morning. She cried herself to sleep dreading the look on his face when he learned it all. 

Cullen gave orders for the men to make camp. They would let the scouts find a path and let the injured rest for the day. He’d lain awake most of the night watching Falon for signs of distress, and wondering just what she’d forgotten to mention in all the weeks they’d been living together as husband and wife. A part of him was seething in anger that she’d kept something clearly important from him, and he was somewhat certain what that secret could be given last night’s events.   
He had known, of course.   
He’d known she was hiding something.   
The main campfire crackled as the camp cooks worked to prepare the food for the day. He reached for a pot and poured a cup of the old campaigner’s coffee, strong enough to strip a man’s stomach. Hamilton, his attache, arrived with the morning’s reports, handing them to Cullen silently. “Pardon me saying, ser, but ye look like something the cat’s dragged in.”  
Giving him a wry look, Cullen said, “Thank you very much, Hamilton. How are our wounded?”  
“Looking better than you, ser,” Hamilton said with a smile and a thick Ferelden accent.   
“All right.” He chuckled in spite of himself.   
“Healers are working on setting a few bones. That last emissary really packed a wallop. Yes, he did, Commander.”  
“Let’s make sure we’re patrolling that perimeter, shall we? God only knows where they all came from, but there may be more.” He took a sip as he read over Harding’s message. “Looks like Harding has made camp and awaits our arrival. More darkspawn in the night, she says. Keep our night watch at capacity.” Cullen took a large drink of his disgusting coffee and grimaced. “Now, I have to go have an unpleasant conversation. No interruptions unless you hear me throttling a Tevinter mage.”  
With a grin, he said, “Yes, ser.” Cullen made his way back to the tent he shared with his wife. Dorian was waiting outside.   
“Dorian,” he greeted trying to keep the tension to a minimum. Whatever his wife’s secret this man knew it far better than he should.   
“You won’t yell at her, are we clear? She’s been going through enough without you heaping more on her.”  
“I suppose you know just what she’s been going through.”  
“It’s not like we both don’t understand her situation through experience.”  
Cullen froze. “I feared as much.”  
Dorian stood and slapped Cullen on the shoulder. “She isn’t lost while she has us.”  
“Does she? Have me, that is. A wife who doesn’t trust her husband?”  
Looking grim, Dorian shook his head. “Hold off on that until you hear it all. She finally met a problem she couldn’t solve on her own to anyone’s satisfaction. Hear her out.”  
Cullen nodded as he entered the tent.   
She had woken and dressed at some point in her one of her winter dresses; his favorite, in fact, the brown with the colorful shawl that made her appear young and carefree most days because she liked wearing it. She’d put on her favorite dress and gone back to sleep on top of the cot. He puzzled about that briefly.  
Her eyes were bruised underneath and puffed from crying most of the night. She’d had tea at some point in the morning, and he thought she’d been sick again if the faint smell in the air was an indication. Worry gnawed him like a dog with a bone.  
He didn’t want to wake her up.   
He sat beside her. “Falon, Dorian is on his way in.”  
Behind him, Dorian said, “I’m here.”  
She stirred, but for a moment he thought she’d just go back to sleep. She sat up and let him help her to move to sit beside him. “Dorian, would you ask Jane for more tea? I can’t keep a thing down.”  
Cullen and Dorian locked worried gazes. Something was definitely wrong here. This time with her health.  
“Please, tell me what I can do, Falon. How do I fix this?”  
“I’ve been trying, Cullen. There was no way out that I could see. Last night, the demon told me his name. He’s strong, so strong. He’s not an archdemon, but he is close and he almost had me.”  
“Pretending to be me, right?”  
She nodded. “He’s illusion. Lies. My guess is a corrupted spirit of faith. He seems to require my belief. Somehow I’ve attracted his attention. He says I burn bright like a star. Whatever that means.”  
“Power,” Dorian said from the tent entrance. “It means power. You have enough to serve his goals. Such as they would be. Jane is brewing the tea.”  
Falon nodded.   
Dorian continued, “May I tell him my favorite part of the story? The part where I’m here to kill you. That was my absolute favorite part of all of this. I think I can tell it much better than you can.”  
Cullen sat straight. “What?”  
“I was afraid I couldn’t hold the demon off, and you’d be trapped here in close quarters with a monster. I asked Dorian to protect you. From me.”  
Dorian was angrier about being included in her confidence than Cullen was about being excluded, it seemed, as the angry mage stood leaning on the traveling war table with arms crossed and a dark cloud upon his brow.   
“And now that I have this opportunity, I’d like to inform you that it was unfair and cruel to ask me. I have had few friends, and you are more like a better version of family to me, perish the thought. Falon,” Dorian glared at his wife intently. “You are a sister, and this from a man who avoids family ties like the plague. Don’t ever ask anything like this of me again.” It was a clear warning.   
Falon stood and pressed herself into Dorian’s arms. Cullen heard a faint whisper of “Forgive me. Please.” Dorian clutched her to his chest while meeting Cullen’s eyes, and a change occurred. They had been rivals of a sort for her attention, whether Dorian would admit it or not. They were officially on the same team now.   
“Tell him the rest, pet, or I shall,” Dorian said it with a heavy sigh.  
“Dorian, no.” Falon went wisp pale.   
“I won’t give in no matter how much you give me the eyes, so do it.” Dread settled in the pit of his stomach like a knotted ball. This was going to sting.   
It reminded him of those moments on the battlefield when you knew you’d misstepped, and the blow would fall. You could see it coming, and you were aware of just how much it’s going to hurt. Yet, it was too late to correct the mistake. Every correction would be too late to stop the blow.   
She turned to him, eyes wide and breaths quickened, and he could see the blow coming.   
“I spoke with Cassandra. This couldn’t continue because I was growing weaker. I put everyone at risk every day I walk among you.”  
He gritted his teeth, clenched his fist around the cup, and braced for it. “And what did you have to say to Cassandra?”  
“The Seeker’s secret is out for the most part among the mages. I knew she might use my services to continue the lyrium research. I thought I could still help you, even if I….” She drifted into silence.  
“And the rest of it, pet,” Dorian said without looking up.  
“I asked her to make me tranquil when we returned.”  
Cullen ran a hand over his mouth. “You were going to leave me?” It cut deeper than any blade had a right to.  
“I was going to save you.”  
Cullen stood and turned his back on her. It hurt to look at her. “You were going to … what? Essentially, desecrate everything I hold dear without telling me. Andraste’s Ghost, I cannot conceive of what that would even be like.” Horror filled him when he pictured his Falon as one of the pitiable ghosts he’d met moving through the halls of Skyhold.   
He moved to the end of the war table, and Dorian moved nearer Falon, sensing perhaps how on edge Cullen was at the moment, sensing that rage boiled just underneath his calm exterior.   
“And Cassandra didn’t tell me,” he said with a scoff.   
Falon interrupted, “Don’t be angry at Cassandra. You can hate me if you must. She didn’t do anything wrong.”  
“Didn’t do anything wrong? She planned to destroy you and couldn’t be bothered to tell me. I believed we were friends.”  
Dorian said, “I doubt she would have….”  
He skewered the other man with a furious look. “We’ll never know now, will we?”  
Falon moved closer. “I said it was my doing!”  
“Oh, I understand that perfectly. It’s the final place to run to, isn’t it?” Cullen felt he would explode, could feel himself reaching a critical point of no return. Suddenly, unaware of his actions as a buzzing rose up in his brain, he flipped the war table. Dorian had pulled Falon away just in time, and she stood, her back to the other man’s front, a protective arm banded her waist, and her eyes wore an expression of despair and betrayal he’d only ever seen in the mirror after Kirkwall.   
Footsteps pounded on the stone outside. “Ser,” Hamilton shouted from the tent flap. “Everything all right in here, ser?”  
“Just fine, Hamilton. It appears I have made a mess.”  
With that, Cullen stormed passed Hamilton and away from the tent. He would join the patrols. Hopefully, he’d find something out there to kill. He needed to work some of the anger out of his system before he talked to his wife again. 

Falon stared at the tossed maps and books on the floor. She’d seen him in battle, but she’d never seen him in a rage. “I don’t understand.”  
She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Dorian released her. “You don’t? You can’t understand how much rejection it is. It’s worse than death, Falon. It’s worse than death for anyone who truly loves you. Your memories, your love for us, anything that makes you who you are would be sucked away and destroyed, and in its place left a shadow. A husk of what you were. Tranquility might be easier for you, but it would be torture for him. You still can’t understand why he’s this angry?”  
“No, I understand why he’s angry. I don’t understand how I’ve attracted a demon of this … power.” She moved to sit on the bed again. “Am I that weak? Am I evil, Dor?”  
“Andraste help me, you are neither of those things. How many encounters with this monster have you managed to survive? Three? Four?”  
A horn sounded outside, call to arms. She and Dorian would have to drop this subject for the moment. “I’ll be with Barrow,” She told Dorian but grabbed the other mage’s arm in pleading. “Dorian, please find him.”  
He nodded, and she followed him out between tents until she reached the medic’s location. She’d thought to heal injured, but as she arrived she had to duck in cover because the tent was taking continuous fire from hurlocks’ arrows.   
She threw an ice mine or two to buy herself some time to find high ground in the cavern. It looked like she’d be doing without, but her ice mines had indeed exploded enough to take out two of them. She darted through the door of the tent. Barrow, a tall, lanky red-haired Ferelden, struggled with an arrow in a soldier’s shoulder.   
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she shouted and ran out the other end of the tent where she could present much less of a target to the ranged darkspawn. Using her hidden position at the corner of the tent, she threw out mine after mine. Hurlocks exploded upward, some wounded and some eliminated.   
There were so many that she had no choice but to keep up a steady onslaught. They’d broken the perimeter. The men had fallen back closer to the camp as darkspawn poured in at the north end of the cavern.   
Falon fired off spells until she was ready to drop. At this moment, she was the last line of defense for the wounded, until Tomas joined her at some point. She’d thrown up an ice wall just in time to stop a launched spear from finding the canvas of the tent and the wounded inside. Tomas called down a storm on the approaching darkspawn, shocking them all. She countered by freezing half of them. Tomas followed up with a massive rain of fire on their heads.  
They fought well together, and when they finished, that crowd of darkspawn lay unmoving upon the ground as sounds of another battle nearby could be heard in the echoes of the cavern.   
The medic tent was starting to fill up. There were no more darkspawn to be seen nearby. She looked at Tomas. “What next?”  
“I’ll stand watch,” he told her. “More might get through.”  
She nodded, then headed inside the tent to grab a patient. She healed everyone brought to her and tried not to search the faces for the two that mattered the most.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Cullen pulled his sword from the emissary with a satisfying slurp of blood and bone meeting blade. He and his men were outnumbered and in close quarters, even as arrows rained down from far down the cavern out of his immediate reach.   
He fought his way through to the archers, but it wouldn’t happen with this ogre in the way. They’d be whittled down to nothing if they didn’t fall back, but if they fell back, the darkspawn would be in camp.   
“I have the archers!” The shout was Dorian’s, who then pulled out his staff and unleashed his own brand of terror on the darkspawn, sending the lot running as he fired destructive spells in their wake.   
Cullen turned his attention to the giant crushing his warriors. “Target his knees, men!” He shouted above the din and the pained roars of darkspawn. He attacked the creature, getting the left leg at the thigh but had to jump out of the way to avoid the glancing blow of the creature’s massive fist as it slammed into one of his men.   
Two swordsmen attacked the ogre dually from the front, drawing him into a position where Cullen easily saw his opening and took it. While the creature worried about the two swordsmen, he missed the dagger approaching his back. Cullen slammed the blade in what would be in a human a kidney. Maker only knew what or where the darkspawn’s organs were.   
The thing roared throwing up its arms in pain and fell to one knee. His men did the rest as he moved away without his dagger. He raised his sword and looked for another target, but, finding none, he called, “Sergeant, get a patrol organized to search for stragglers. Find some mages and get the wounded stabilized.”   
Cullen had never felt this bone-weary after any battle of his life. He sank onto a rock as Dorian approached. “Feel any better?”  
He rubbed burning acidic darkspawn blood off his cheek with his glove, probably leaving more, he realized. “No, I don’t,” Cullen choked out. “What if she’d managed to do it? It’s all I can think about. What if she hadn’t been forced to tell me?”  
Dorian sat by his side, hands on his knees. “It was part of why I came with the expedition.”  
Cullen cut his eyes Dorian’s way. “Then, I thank you, Dorian. I truly thank you.”  
Dorian chuckled. “Never thought we’d get back to that, did you? Look, I know you’re angry. I’m furious with the little minx, but we have to focus on helping her. Ultimately, she’s not doing any of this to hurt us. She’s running from a very real threat.”  
“I understand that,” Cullen said.   
“I don’t think you do, Cullen. You’ve seen blood mages and demonic possession from the outside looking in. It’s why we built pretty cages for mages in the circle, isn’t it? You don’t know what it’s like to face that evil down in the Fade or in your own mind.:  
“Don’t I?” Cullen looked at him wryly. “I’ve had a demon toy with my mind.”  
“Then you of all people should know how much fear that instills. You Templars were trained to keep your distance from the unfortunate fact that most of these mages did nothing wrong besides being born with magic. She’s terrified, Cullen. I have been watching her closely, and she’s absolutely terrified.”  
“She’s ill.” Cullen didn’t recognize his own voice.   
“And, she’s ill. Furthermore, I’m not fond of Tomas, the potion master she brought with her. He toadies.” Dorian’s tone communicated disgust. “And we both know that Falon doesn’t require toadies, so he’s playing a game. I just don’t know what it is. He makes my skin crawl.”  
“I hadn’t noticed him,” Cullen said thoughtfully. Perhaps he did need help taking care of Falon. “Dorian, you’re a mage. Exactly how much power does my wife have?”  
“It’s not uncommon for mages to have untapped power, Cullen.” He smiled off into the distance. “I suspect she has quite a lot, but we both know she’d never use it.”  
“I’d rather she use it than be a target for it with no defenses.”  
“As would I,” Dorian replied. “But it’s not up to us.”  
“All right. Let’s get this mess cleaned up and get to the next camp. I want to know where these darkspawn are coming from.”

Falon leaned over the chamberpot once again and gagged. The acrid smell of sickness filled the air. She had nothing left to get out of her stomach. Jane fussed over her with an elfroot potion.   
“Mistress, you need another.”  
She shook her head. “It’s not working, Jane. There’s no point.”  
“What’s the matter with her?” Dorian’s alarmed question from the tent flap was welcome.   
“We don’t know, Dor. It’s not responding to herbals.”  
“Well, then it’s magic,” Dorian said.   
“That would be the logical assumption, but…,” she said, interrupted by illness.  
“We can’t break it.” Jane wrung her hands in obvious distress.  
“Let me take a look. I’ll find something.”  
Dorian pulled a chair to the cot and reached over her. His magic always glowed lovely dark indigo, and it wasn’t soothing at all. It was exotic, exciting, ethereal. As she lay there letting him read her physical state, she realized how much all mages must communicate their souls into their magic.   
His concern drifted over her, and it made her feel… well, loved. Someone loved her, and that was a strange, strange thing. Dorian gave a frustrated click of his tongue. “There is something here. It’s not one of us.”  
Dorian put his hands down but remained with his eyes closed a moment. His expression turning dark. “Blood magic. It feels incomplete.”  
“How is that even possible?” Falon felt weariness descending on her. “How can that be? I have to sleep, Dor.”  
Dorian peered down at her, pulled her eyelids open. “No, no, no, no. You don’t sleep right now. Stay awake, Falon.” He bracketed his hands on both sides of her face, and she the healing magic took away some of her queasiness and pain. When had the pain started?  
“I can’t, Dor. Love you, you know that right?”  
“Get Cullen in here!”  
“Do not go to sleep. Do you hear me?”  
Cullen’s fear penetrated the fog. “What’s wrong?”  
Blood magic, I think….  
She’s spelled….  
How is that possible? Where would a blood mage hide?   
In plain sight, silly, she thought, but then her thoughts shattered again, and Falon sought out that dark refuge where sleep was dreamless and restful. 

Falon hadn’t woken up. He stared at her face in the lamplight.   
Dorian’s hand on his shoulder roused him from his darker thoughts, “The mages are all here. Barrow is going to sit with her while we talk to them en mass.”  
Cullen nodded. “I sent messengers to Harding. She’s to finish the search for the texts.”  
“Won’t she enjoy that,” Dorian chuckled in grim fashion.   
Barrow walked in a bag in hand. As she examined her patient, she turned to the two men waiting. “Your apprentice was wrong, Dorian. She is responding to the herbals. The symptoms of poison are improving, yet she remains unconscious. Her skin is no longer sallow and her heart beats normally.”  
“Magic is what’s left?” Dorian asked her.   
“Magic is my guess.” Barrow turned back to them. “If there is magic involved, that’s out of my skill set.”  
“None of this makes any sense.” Cullen swiped a hand over his face. “What could anyone hope to gain?”  
Dorian slid his eyes to Cullen. “It could be a distraction for the leader of the army of the Inquisition.”  
Cullen’s heart beat wildly at the thought. If that were the case, could he ever forgive himself?

Soldiers surrounded all the mages in camp as somewhere water trickled down the cave walls in the tense silence and the mages stood there, some outraged and some frightened. He couldn't really blame them for either reaction. He cut to the heart of things.  
“We believe one of you is a blood mage,” he said to the group at large sending a ripple throughout the gathering. He waited for that ripple to settle to stillness.  
“I’ve ordered the seriously wounded back to Skyhold. The expedition is over, but Mistress Falon,” he paused, then let some of his anger show. “My wife has been spelled unconscious and isn’t responding to any treatment. It is a blood mage who has done this.”  
There were shouts of protest.   
Dorian stepped forward. “One of you asks - how do we know? Do you know who I am?” Silence fell on the crowd as he pointedly met individual gazes. It would appear that they did, in fact, know who he was. “Blood magic isn’t hard to identify. It has a taste and a scent to it, and Falon reeks of it right now. I can promise this to whomever this mage is; By the time, I’m through with you you’ll be wishing for a quick death from a Templar.”  
The former Templars moved in on the circle of mages making it clear they were no longer guests, but suspects. “All of the mages in camp will need to be quarantined for the time being. When we return to Skyhold, you will be confined to the tower until we identify the rogue mage.”  
“Identify and torture the rogue mage,” Dorian added for effect. Cullen held back a mirthless laugh at the reaction of the crowd. One of them was responsible. It was just a question of which, and he certainly shared Dorian’s feelings.   
“That will be the Inquisitor’s call, but this mage, whoever it is, should probably pray to the Maker that I’m not given a vote. We leave for Skyhold presently. Dismissed.”  
He and Dorian stood watching the mages be marched away to gather their things and break down their camps. “Bravo,” Dorian said clapping him on the back. “I suspect our mage will hide deep until he figures out he can’t get away. We need Skyhold’s resources to break this spell.”  
“What do you believe it is?”  
“I don’t know enough about the discipline. We’ll need an expert in blood magic or we need to break the mage responsible.”  
Cullen felt horror creep through him as he breathed in the dank air of the cavern. “Let’s get her out of this place before more darkspawn show up.”  
“Agreed.”  
Cullen grabbed Dorian’s arm as they walked. “One of us needs to be with her at all times.”  
Dorian simply nodded.   
It was time to go.  
*

The expedition slowly trickled out of Valamar and massed beside Lake Luthias in the brilliant sunlight. Cullen watched lights glimmering on the lake below as he stood beside the waterfall and supervised the groups leaving the narrow entrance to the deep roads.   
Dorian remained with Falon in the cart, and he would see to her transfer to a carriage. It was late afternoon. They would camp below.   
He supervised the tents going up. He’d put guards on Falon like that would stop whatever this was from harming her, he thought bitterly. Cullen had never felt this helpless.   
The mages were all gathered in the center of the camp with an around-the-clock watch on them all. With the lake as a partial barrier and the size of the camp for the night a barrier on every other side of the mages, escape wasn’t really an option for the blood mage among them.   
Cullen fought the desperation pushing him to run down the hill into the mage’s camp and force the answer out of them. He rubbed a hand over his neck and kicked at the dirt. This might be worse than his nightmare. He found himself softly repeating the chant as the sunset over the valley and the last stragglers left the deep roads. He continued to stand there a bit longer.   
He listened to the sound of insects chirping in the dimming light. It was so at odds with the loss, the fear and the anger in his heart. As he walked toward camp, he watched a ram chasing off into the brush, bounding over a large boulder and off into the night. It made him think of Falon. Of course, everything did, but that most of all tonight.   
She’d just wanted to be free her whole life.   
What had she done to be caged? What had she lost in that cage?  
He felt the sting of a tear at the corner of his eye and stopped in a dark spot to wipe it away. She loved him enough that she was willing to erase herself to keep him safe, and that made him both angry and sad. Her magic was as much her cage as any circle tower could be.   
He hurried back to give Dorian some time to sleep. The tent was dark. He stooped to enter and stopped to watch the scene. Falon lay there, still as some Elven statue, and Dorian sat hands over his mouth staring at her with stark sorrow on his face.   
“Dorian,” he said quietly.  
The mage turned with his hands still folded before his face before dropping them tiredly. “Everyone above ground again?”  
Cullen nodded and took off his coat. It was warmer in the valley with spring on the way in. Dorian stood and made his way to the now upright and tidied war table where an unnoticed bottle of wine sat waiting with two camp glasses. “I thought we might need a drink. It’s from my own stash.”  
“You brought wine to the deep roads.”  
“I bring wine everyplace I don’t like.”  
Cullen angled his head, gave a sad smile and grunted, “Fair enough.”  
He took the glass Dorian poured him and gestured to him to have a seat near the bed. Cullen sat on the floor near the foot of the cot and tipped back the wine. It was good wine, of course. Dorian would drink nothing less.   
“So, on a scale of Wicked Grace to Corypheus, how hard is this one going be to win? You’re the expert on magic.”  
Dorian exhaled after a long pull on his glass. “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s blood magic, and there was clearly a ritual done somewhere. How the mages in the tower missed it, I don’t know. My guess is she would have been given something; Not a talisman though because she hardly wears any jewelry at all. Food? Drink? It’s like the magic is part of her somehow.”  
Cullen stared into his wine. His mind processing slowly. “Tea?”  
Dorian sat there a moment. “Yes, a good strong tea would disguise a bad flavor. Powder can be easily made and transported. A potion master would know what to do. Damn. The apprentice and the master.”  
“They were with her all the time. Prepared her food with their own, and Tomas was constantly bringing her tea.”  
“Yes, he did. Should we question them together?”  
Cullen sat thinking before he said, “We should question them at Skyhold. Is she stable for now?”  
“There’s absolutely no change at all from this morning. Now, that Barrow says the poison isn’t killing her, she’s not growing worse. She just isn’t waking up.”   
“We need the safety of four walls and a prison cell before we do anything. The blood mage already knows we’re looking for them. Inside Skyhold, we’re in control. You should get some sleep,” he told Dorian. “I’ve got her tonight. There’s a guard on the door.”  
“I’m not far if you need help,” Dorian said, rising from the chair.   
Cullen watched him leave from his place on the floor. He finished his wine in the stark silence that was usually filled with Falon’s jokes. It made him ache inside until he pushed himself off the floor and crawled onto his side of the cot over the covers. Pressing his face to hers, he tried to pretend everything was as it should be.   
It didn’t work, so he just dozed in the hope morning would come faster.  
Call to arms woke Cullen. He went from dozing to armed in moments. The guard outside was inside with the speed of an old veteran. “Ser, we have darkspawn.”  
“Here!” he shouted. “Andraste. Get Pavus. Bring him to guard her.”  
Dorian must have already been on his way. He sped around the corner disheveled and staff in hand. “Go,” he shouted as he fell in the door still shrugging on his mantle. Cullen ran for the edge of the camp.   
They’d come from Valamar. It was the nearest entrance.   
His men had things well in hand by the time he arrived. It was a small enough group that he found face down and burning. “Sergeant, are there more?”  
The young soldier carried himself well. “We have patrols combing the area, ser. Nothing new so far.”  
“Good lad. It’s only a few more hours until sun up and we’ll head for Skyhold. Stay alert until then. I’ll rouse the camp and get them loaded.”  
“Yes, ser.”  
Cullen walked back mulling over this latest attack. In the absence of a blight, why would darkspawn leave the underground at all? “Why indeed?” he muttered.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The courtyard of Skyhold bustled with activity as the expedition began to be broken up and put away. Mages were marched to the tower to be quarantined until the mystery of Falon’s illness was solved, and they were unhappy and that was an understatement. Cullen felt a sliver of regret at the necessity.   
Jane, the apprentice, and Master Tomas were transported instead to the cells below Skyhold. He’d given them an hour before having a pair of guards bring Jane to his office where she was told to sit and wait for him.   
Above stairs, Cullen took a final look at Falon. Barrow had washed her hair, and Cullen walking in on her had put out a hand for the hairbrush. He’d then spent the next half hour brushing her curls out in his hands and fighting the urge to shout at her even if she couldn’t hear him to just damn well wake up already. He felt he might be going mad.   
He fought contradictory emotions at every turn. He was furious with her and lonely for her. He brushed her hair back tenderly and kissed her cheek feeling the rush of love he had for her, so full and complete that he knew he’d die without a second thought if it meant protecting her. His hand shook as he placed the horsehair brush on the side table carefully.   
“I love you,” he whispered reverently.   
With those words hanging in the air, he turned and took the stairs two at a time. Jane turned big eyes to him as he entered from above. Her hands were tied before her, and she appeared every bit the terrified girl she claimed to be.   
“Jane, how often did Tomas prepare the tea?”  
“Ser?” He measured her bafflement. It looked genuine.  
“Mistress Falon was poisoned. We think perhaps the tea.”  
“That was Tomas’tea. He made no secret of it, ser. He said it was a special blend from Tevinter.”  
“Did it have a purpose according to the master?”  
She shrugged in confusion. “It was just tea, ser. You know how Mistress loves bilberry. It was a good strong herbal, she said.”  
“Did you ever make the tea at all? Did you watch Tomas make it?”  
She seemed more thoughtful, more suspicious now as she answered. “No, ser, come to think of it. He insisted I couldn’t make it right and kept the tea in his own private stocks. We each have our own.”  
“How well do you know the master, Jane?”  
She shrugged again. “Not well, ser. He doesn’t like me much. Doesn’t like anyone really if we’re to be honest.”  
“Tell me your impression of him.”  
Jane and Cullen studied each other a moment before she began to speak. “Ser, what is it you think I’ve done?”  
“Perhaps nothing, Jane. Tell me of Tomas. Anything you remember.”  
“Truthfully, ser. I avoided him. He’s… handsy, Commander, and arrogant as a chevalier. He’s fascinated with the Fade. Talks constantly of his research. That’s all he does in my view is research on the Fade. Not much of a potion master if you ask me.”  
“Did he keep notes on his research, Jane? This is important.” The girl wanted to help, it seemed, and Cullen was willing to trust that if she led him to a cure. He leaned forward in the chair.   
“He keeps a grimoire on him at all times, ser.”  
Cullen rose from his desk and opened the door to speak to the waiting guardsman. “Step into the main hall. Send a messenger to the Guard captain to have the master searched for a grimoire on his person or in his things. Be thorough. Bring anything you find to me.”  
“Yes, Commander,” the man said before speeding away.  
He turned back to the girl without closing the door. “Jane, I’m going to place you in the custody of the First Enchanter for now. You are to stay with the other suspect mages and do not attempt to leave the tower, is that understood?”  
Jane swiped at tears in her eyes. “Yes, ser,” she said with a manner decidedly less friendly than it had been in the past. Cullen sighed and shoved away his regret at becoming the monster in the tale. It was Falon at stake.   
Helping the girl to her feet, he marched her along the battlements and toward the mage tower that gleamed in the sun. The brightness of the day proved to be disconcerting to him. It seemed out of place, disingenuous.   
What kind of sun shown so brightly when so much pain was present? He supposed, looking up at the sun, it had been doing that same to others since the moment it began to shine. Having delivered the girl, he went to find Dorian.  
*  
Eliana stood in the great hall her hand rubbing at the stump of her other arm as if it hurt. Dorian sat at a table bleary-eyed from a sleepless night, while Blackwall watched over Falon for them.   
“He has a grimoire. I’ve sent orders to search him again.” He said it without preamble, and Eliana took off toward the dungeons with Cullen following her close behind. They arrived to find the mage skinny and shivering in his small clothes. The guard captain sorted through a few items on the table.   
“Commander Rutherford,” he acknowledged in a deep voice, graveled from years of overuse on the training ground. “We’ve found this.” He tossed a small black book onto the table in front of Cullen.   
Dorian had followed closely. He stepped up to examine the book. Meanwhile, Cullen took in contents of the table: tea in a loose cheesecloth, an amulet of elven design, and a vial of blood.   
Cullen touched the vial, then cut glaring eyes at the prisoner. “Whose?”  
A grim smile grew from Tomas’ mouth, hanging there, mocking Falon’s life and Cullen’s pain. “It’s my master’s blood.”  
“And who is your master?” Cullen barely restrained himself by gripping the table edge.   
“Illusion, of course,” he said proudly. “Although why he wants that Elven pretender, I don’t know. Perhaps, he only wants to toy with her.”  
“Your master is the demon, Illusion?”  
He heard the Inquisitor’s slight gasp, then heard her mutter, “I will send for Leliana.”  
Dorian was not restrained. He raged, the sound echoing off the stones around them. “You’ve fed her demon’s blood?”   
The smile grew madder, wider. “She need only accept him and the pain stops.” Cullen stood and walked calmly over to where two guards held the prisoner, and without warning, he backhanded him so hard he flew to the floor with a rattling of chains.   
“If she turns, if she dies, you will feel it,” he gritted out between harsh breaths fighting for calm. The madman laughed where he lay on the floor. “Put him back in a cell. Watch him carefully.”  
It was all he could say as he left the dungeon before he did something he would regret like kill the only man with answers in this waking nightmare. Dorian gathered the other items on the table apparently. He waved it at Cullen as he passed. “I will be in the undercroft.”  
As he ran toward the Harrit the blacksmith’s lair he shouted to a messenger stationed in the hall, “You there! I need the alchemist and his tools. Now.”  
The boy nodded and ran off.   
Cullen stood there alone in the main hall staring at the glittering sight of the throne and wondering if he’d wake up. There was no way this was real. It couldn’t be real. A demon who had followers to bring him back and forth from the Fade had managed to feed his blood to Falon. It was a miracle she’d lived this long.  
*  
It had been an excruciating week with no change in Falon and no new information from the prisoner though the captain of the guard had certainly tried to extract it. “Ser,” one of the messenger boys stood on his threshold. “A carriage is arriving, ser. It bears the Chantry crest.”  
He stood from his paperwork and ran for the stairs to the courtyard. Leliana had sent help perhaps. The Inquisitor had said she was calling in a favor. He’d assumed it was from the Divine.   
The carriage rattled to a stop, and the Divine in her robes stepped from inside carrying a red bag. “Cullen,” she said in greeting. “Take me to her.”  
“Your perfection,” he said with a bow. “She’s in our quarters.”  
“Let’s go. She turned back to the sister who stepped from her carriage, a warrior if he’d ever seen one, to issue orders. “Find Dorian Pavus. He’s probably in the tavern. Bring him to the Commander’s quarters.”  
“He’s in the undercroft. He’s taken to sleeping there on a cot.”  
The Divine met his gaze solemnly. “Just so. Go.”  
Leliana led the ways to the Commander’s tower as it was now called. Cullen prayed silently behind the Divine as her guards flanked her ahead. The people of Skyhold moved out of her way, bowing respectfully as she passed.   
Cullen fought the flutter of hope that woke and tried to take flight in him as he followed. El met them at the tower door. “Divine Victoria. We thank you for any help you can give,” El told her with a formal bow. Leliana made a noise.   
“Where is the girl?”  
“She’s upstairs, your perfection.”  
Leliana gathered her cloth bag in both hands distributing the weight. “Hannah. Miles. You will stay here while I see to the problem.”  
“Your perfection, I must protest this. The girl is probably an abomination. You can’t expect us to let you go into a room alone without guards.”  
Leliana turned a baleful stare on the warrior from the carriage who must be Hannah. “I can and I do. I will be in that room with at least three of the deadliest soldiers it has been my honor to serve beside, Hannah. While I might be out of practice, I would hope I could still class myself among them.”  
Chastened, the Divine’s left hand lowered her eyes, and softly mumbled, “Yes, mum.”  
The Inquisitor led the way up the spiral of steps to the room where Falon lay silent and still. Barrow greeted them all with a bow before stepping away. “No change, Commander.”  
“Yes, Barrow. Divine Victoria, my unit medical officer, Barrow.   
The only real sounds in the room after introductions were the soft breaths of the patient and the swish of the Divine’s robes as she crossed the room to a chest of drawers and rested the bag she carried on top. “Cullen, El. I have a possible solution. Come.”  
They exchanged looks at the furtive manner Leliana exhibited and approached the Divine, for that’s what she felt like at the moment, more authority than friend.  
Leliana’s voice dropped. “I have a place of trust in the Chantry, a place of highest authority, you understand. Nations turn on the decisions made on the Sunburst Throne.”  
El looked puzzled. “Why are you saying this?”  
“Because I want you to understand what I’m risking. The Hero of Ferelden returned to us one of our most treasured relics intact and I am entrusted with its care. I’m tasked with guarding the final resting place of our blessed Andraste, and if it were in my power, I would give you the ashes you requested. It is not, however, within my authority to do, as I’m sure you both realize.”  
Her voice had returned to normal as she spoke of her decision, and Cullen warily listened, knowing there had to be more.   
She continued, “I felt it only right to give the Chantry’s refusal to my friends personally and to say farewell to an old friend if farewell it must be.” Leliana turned to him. “Cullen, I didn't come empty-handed. I’ve brought you this mixture of my own devising.” She placed a medicinal container in his hand and squeezed. Cullen curled his hands around it. It was warm to the touch.   
He inclined his head. “I thank you for coming so far, Divine, and I am most grateful for any aide you offer. You are a treasured friend. You know that.”  
“As are you and your dear wife, Cullen Rutherford. As are you all.” She walked to the bedside and whispered a prayer and blessing over Falon’s fitfully sleeping form. “It was a spectacular argument with the Grand Clerics, one to rival our old battles, but they feel that it would be favoritism and wholly beneath the Chantry to part with even a small portion of the ashes of Andraste for a young girl outside the Chantry’s authority.”  
“An elf, you mean,” Cullen said with barely suppressed disgust.   
Leliana slid her eyes to the stair. “It is possible, Cullen. I am sorry.”  
Catching his eyes, Leliana made it clear her next words mattered. “I am certain that the elixir in your hand can improve her condition, Cullen. It may not be ashes from the holies of holy, but it is effective magic from the very best healer the Chantry employs.”  
He stared at the blue glass bottle, plain and innocuous, in his hand. Could it truly be?  
Leliana turned to the Inquisitor. “We have a few things to discuss as well before I retire for the evening. We’ll be heading straight back tomorrow.” Cullen heard little of the rest as the conversation slowly moved away and out of earshot.   
Dorian eventually pounded up the stairs. “Did she bring it?” He had run from the undercroft. “It’s the only thing that will work. Did she bring it?”  
Cullen looked up from the bottle that held his hope. “To be honest, I am uncertain. She brought something, Dor.” He uncapped the bottle, looked inside, and closed his eyes as relief flooded him. Ashes.   
She’d broken every rule of Maker and Man to help them. She’d endangered everything if she were suspected, and she’d done it without hesitation. He’d never felt more gratitude in his life.   
He handed the bottle to Dorian and stepped down the stairs to see the only posted guard by the fire. “Wilkes, go get your supper. I’m in for the evening, and we have a death mage in attendance as well. If we can’t fight off whatever the guards miss, we probably deserve what we get.”  
With a smile, his officer saluted, left and quietly closed the door. When Cullen returned to Dorian’s side, he stood holding the empty bottle. “All we do now is wait.”  
“How long do we wait?” Cullen stared at her knowing he’d go mad waiting for long.   
“I have no idea, Commander. I’ve not exactly had much experience with miracles of faith before this.”  
A knock sounded at the door. Cullen reached for his sword as he descended the stairs. Dorian had taken a place at the top of the stairs, staff at the ready. Cullen opened the door.   
Bull, Sera, Josephine, and Barrow stood there waiting to be let in. “Did she help?” Iron Bull asked impatiently.   
Cullen merely nodded saying nothing of how. “Come in, but she’s sleeping.”  
“May I sit with her a while, Commander?” Josie asked. He smiled at the ambassador he’d never fully understood.   
“Of course, you may.”  
Bull said a bit loudly, “Excellent. Josie will take first watch. Sera, deal the cards. That will distract Cullen for a while.”  
“Gambling will distract me?” he asked. His full skeptical nature in force.   
“Losing will distract you, Cullen. It’s not gambling when you play. It’s an investment.” Cullen found himself chuckling at the teasing. Dorian joined them a moment later.  
“I’ll get the brandy, Cullen.”  
He nodded at the mage and pulled a wooden seat out to join his friends at the table They’d brought in. It wasn’t quite large enough for all of them, but it would do. He suspected it would be a long night and suddenly felt profoundly grateful for to all his friends that he wouldn’t be sitting vigil alone.   
As the night went by, Cullen finally folded a finally hand and settled into Falon’s favorite wingback chair beside the bed. He waited and watched for any sign of change in her steady breathing until it and the brandy and the hum of voices down below lulled him to sleep at last. 

*  
“Cullen.”   
He stirred hearing his name. A single candle burned by the bedside. “Cullen,” the voice said again. Finally, Pavus barked joyously.   
Cullen sat up, no longer asleep at the dog’s signal. Something had changed. Pavus barked again. His eyes were drawn inexorably to the bedclothes where his love lay bundled in a vain effort to keep her safe and comfortable. Her blue eyes were open, he realized slowly.   
“Falon,” he whispered.   
“I’m very thirsty, Cullen. Could you?” She pointed weakly to the pitcher on the table. He ran to do her will. All the while he made promises. He’d be a much better Andrastian. He would be more patient, less proud. He’d give more at the chantry. Relief flowed into him even as the water filled the cup in his hand.   
He tipped the water to her lips. “Easy,” he whispered. “It’s been days since you’ve eaten solid food.”  
“Thanks for the reminder. I’m hungry.”  
He smiled. It wasn’t hard to do. The faint white glow of her healing magic began in one palm, and his smile faltered. “No, enough of that. You heal no one for the time being, is that understood?”  
A brittle chuckle escaped her. It sounded disused and unwilling. “Yes, Commander, ser. Forgive me if I cannot salute you.”  
“How is it possible to be so ill and yet so infuriating?” he asked her as he smoothed hair away from her temples.   
“It’s my elfy thing,” she told him. “I can’t help it.”  
Sera squealed from the doorway, then shouted back, “She’s awake!” Dancing across the room she bounced on the end of the bed, and said, “Now, this is all right now, innit?” Falon reached for the other elf’s hand and squeezed.   
His voice seemed harsh when he asked her, “Sera, would you sit with her while I send for Barrow?”  
“Sure,” she said happily.   
Dorian had finally drifted off and Sera’s shout hadn’t woken him. The Iron Bull smiled widely. “She’s okay then.” At his silent nod, Bull said, “Good to hear. I think I’ll go hit the sack. I’ll rouse Barrow for you.”  
Cullen nodded at him still unable to trust himself. He needed air and a place to gather his composure. He stepped outside with Bull, and as he watched the Qunari walk toward the main hall. He realized there were two guards in their usual places around the fire pits and one guard walking the battlement, but there were also at least three former Templars. They all looked his way expectantly.   
“Commander, we wanted to inquire….”   
“She’s awake.” He coughed as his voice cracked, and the men slapped him on the back joyfully.   
One of the guards smiled widely. “Right glad I am to hear it, ser. She’s a good one is your missus. Sweetest flower in the garden, that one.”  
“Thank you,” he said. Cullen had to be alone for a minute. He had to gather himself. How long had he been tortured in the circle tower? It had felt weeks, but nothing those demons had then devised had torn him apart like waiting for Falon to wake up. He walked briskly down the battlements toward the cell now housing his wife’s pet project, her Templar clinic. There was a shadow in the corner.   
He stood there in the dark with his back to the hold. Eliana’s voice pierced the darkness. “Cullen, how is she?”  
He wiped his eyes in a pinching motion and sniffed as quietly as he could. “She’s fine. She’s awake at last.”  
The Inquisitor put a hand on his back. “Cullen, it’s okay,” she said. “She’s made it. You’ve made it.”  
“She…,” Cullen couldn’t stop the pinch of a tear at the thought. “She’s like lyrium, El. I can’t function without her.”  
Eliana stepped up and slid her arm over his back in an offer of comfort. “Not like lyrium, my friend. Like air. I know the feeling. It’s like you can’t breathe, but you can now, Cullen. She’s alive. You have her in your arms.”  
He wiped his eyes and focused on El. “I’m sorry, Eliana. It’s been far too easy to forget all our losses in the crisis.”  
She gave him a sad smile. “Shush. I won’t have it. We didn’t lose Falon. Your darling is in there waiting for you.” She chuckled. “Probably trying to get out of bed if I know her.”  
He rolled his eyes. “She’s already tried to heal me once.”  
El’s laugh rolled out into the night in a pleasant trill. He said to her, “It’s good to hear that again. We’ve all missed that sound.”  
She chucked his chin. “There will be more of it, I promise. Now, go. Be with her. Love her, Cullen, no matter what.”  
As he watched the Inquisitor leave, her last words played in his head. He turned back toward the tower that was their home. It would seem he had his orders, he thought.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty heavy on the romance. I'm going somewhere with it. I promise

The hall filled with people eager to see the Inquisitor in action. Trial and sentencing was expected to be quick today since the blood mage had confessed his crimes. Cullen posted an extra guard on the Inquisitor's dais to be safe, however, he couldn't escape a nagging feeling of dread. He'd asked Falon to spend the day in her clinic with her guard at her side, and she'd eagerly agreed.

Since her cure, she'd been better. No trips into the Fade as such, yet she was subdued, not herself. She still got up and went to work. She would still accidentally heal others, but she struck Cullen as quiet, far too thoughtful, and sad. He'd been tiptoeing around the urge to hold her, waiting for her to come to him when she was ready.

Just that morning he'd found her staring out at the mountains with a lost expression as though she sought something in the curl of the clouds around the peaks. She was free of the demon to a point but still lost to Cullen somehow.

Eliana sat upon her throne, the golden flames rising behind her, as his guards brought forth Master Tomas Mason. Josephine read the charges. The list wasn't long. It all boiled down to his desire to practice blood magic, and it turned out a sacrifice didn't actually have to bleed after all. This had all been a summoning if the ramblings of the mage in his cell were to be believed.

Cullen heard El speak boldly across the hall as she called the crowd to order. He stood to the side of the undercroft door waiting and trying to appear somewhat impartial. Cullen also fought a fierce need to wrap his bare hands around that coward's throat. His fists remained clenched by his side until they ached.

"I just know I'm going to regret this, but what have you to say for yourself?" Every word she spoke to the mage reeked of strained patience. El had been present for most of the questioning. The fact that she was asking now meant only that she wanted the gathering to hear the man's motives and ravings. He was a fanatic, too lost in magic to care very much what it cost him.

"I need not justify myself to you, elf!" The mage with his hands bound behind his back spoke with enough vitriol to sear the ears of even those in the back of the hall. "Your kind will never rule over mages. An upstart thing such as yourself could never understand the magic awaiting us in the Fade if we have only the courage to take it." He sounded as though he were evangelizing the crowd, playing for recruits to his cause. Cullen prayed there were none to be had.

"Fenedhis. Are you finished?"

Cullen almost smiled at Eliana's handling of the mage. She wasn't taking him seriously for the benefit of those watching. She'd become quite a hand at the politics. Far better than Cullen could ever care to be.

It was then he noticed a speckle of red on the stones where the mage had been standing. He'd looked away to hide his smile, and there it was. Just a tiny speck. His eyes scanned the mage who had been searched, per his orders, for anything sharp, anything at all. Somehow, he'd managed, Cullen realized as his brain processed the fact that the mage was even now working his magic.

His sword rang out as it left his scabbard. Startled gasps echoed through the room. "El, to arms."

The Inquisitor didn't question, she merely reached for the staff she kept beside the throne. "Cullen?"

Tomas' laugh boomed through the hall.

Cullen turned to his men. "Clear the hall! Quickly."

Every man in his command rushed to follow that order. "Mason, this is a bad idea. Have you seen abominations? Do you know what it is you will become?"

"Become? You elf-loving simpleton! This is ascension. I will be the great one's sword, his light in the world."

"You will become a demon's toy."

The wild madness in the mage's eyes didn't bode well for them. "Like your toy, Commander? Illusion is magic, and don't deceive yourself. He will have her. He will. On her own she is nothing. He will make her great if she will only let him." The man's voice changed near the end, rang with the hollow sound of the demon taking control.

With a loud shout, the mage became the monster, morphing into the fear demon's natural form with six crooked arms and the floating body of a horror. "Commander," it called in that guttural tone. "How is my sweet morsel this day?" Then, it laughed and Cullen who'd been all this time pulling on his diminished Templar powers let loose what he had, draining the mage as he could.

Few Templars on lyrium could face a full demon from the Fade. Skyhold didn't have many full Templars anymore with the success of Falon's treatment. They did have mages though, and it was those who flooded the hall and faced off with the demon, Illusion.

First-enchanter Solange Lambert called out orders in her thick Orlesian accent across the hall, rallying her mages like an old campaigner. The more powerful among them barraged the demon with destructive spells until Cullen was forced to fall back behind the throne beside El. The others threw barriers over everyone else. Cullen felt the cool touch of El's barrier slip over his shoulders as they crouched there.

"How did he get a blade?"

"I don't know." Cullen peeked back out around the golden flames. "I can't see anything. We need to move."

El released a volley of lightning in the direction of the fighting, and he moved to use the statue as cover. The destructive spells paused a moment as mages needed to gather mana from the world around them which meant they were throwing everything they had at the beast. That told Cullen everything he needed to know about the power of it.

Cullen caught sight of the monster and charged sword in hand with his Templar power ready. He managed a broad swing catching the creature on one of its useless arms slicing it away from the body. It roared in reaction, then blinked away.

"Where is it?" Cullen demanded. Every pair of eyes searched the hall.

"It's gone," El said, breathing in deeply. "They can do that?"

A horrifying thought hit Cullen, "Falon."

He ran as if his life depended on it; across the training grounds, up the stairs, and bounded through the door of the clinic barely able to breathe. "Falon," he said in alarm, but all was quiet.

She jumped and dropped the book she'd just taken down from her shelf. "Cullen!"

His relief was so profound he dropped to his knees. "Thank the Maker." Eliana burst in behind him, even as Falon rushed to his side.

"Cullen, what is it? You're hurt." He realized the demon blood on his face burned. "That's not human. Cullen?"

It was El who answered while Cullen could only drink in the sight of her, unhurt but unhappy. "Tomas summoned Illusion."

"He... is he dead?"

"Escaped."

Falon knelt before him on the floor. "You fought him. You were in the same room with Illusion." Horror at the thought covered her face. "It will never end. Cullen, this will never end until I'm ..."

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly losing control of himself entirely. "Stop! You will not say it." Her hands grabbed his shoulders. He looked down where they glowed, and his face crumpled with grief. He was losing her. He was losing himself.

"Cullen," she whispered so sadly. He buried his face in the fabric of her sleeve pulling her into his arms and breathing in the sweet floral scent of her. El hurried everyone out of the tower on the pretense of a search of Skyhold room by room. They all knew the creature that had been Tomas Mason was gone.

Falon held him stroking his head with her magic alight in her palm. He took great gulps of air. "You always asked what my nightmares were about, love," she whispered. "This is it. This was what I dreamed; that I would destroy you right along with myself. In every dream I had, you died. Sometimes in flames. Others you slipped beneath waves. It was always the same."

"None of this is your fault." He met her eyes. "None of it."

"Oh, I think some of it is. If I'd faced this in the Fade, we wouldn't be here."

"And, you might not be here."

She nodded," But, you would. You'd be happy and healthy and free of all of this. I've been so selfish, wanting more for myself. More time. More chances. More love. It was selfish to bring this down on you all."

"You can just leave me out of that, darling," Dorian said it from the doorway. "I quite enjoy destroying demons and traipsing off on adventures, much as I might complain. You are so ridiculously self-sacrificing. You remind me of Cassandra."

Falon rolled her eyes at him making Cullen give a weak laugh as he pressed to his feet. His knees weren't shaking now, but he wasn't sure if he could pick up his sword just yet.

"Darling, my dear girl." Dorian gave a long-suffering sigh. "You seem never to fully comprehend."

"Are you calling me stupid, Dorian? Now?"

Cullen did laugh at the outrage in his wife's voice. Dorian was drawing fire as usual. It was his way of fighting, draw the target, make them focus on him and let a teammate go in for the kill.

"Well, I didn't say that, did I?" Cullen hid his smile from Falon by turning his head away from her.

"And, what it is, you gigantic arse, that I have yet to comprehend?"

This was more like the woman he loved. She had fire and determination when the moment called for it. It was only in the face of demons that she faltered.

" Oh, somebody's been spending too much time baking with Sera. You never seem to understand that we don't see this as a burden. Look at all I've personally risked for all of Thedas," he gestured to himself. "What a loss that would have been for the world at large, and yet I did it. Why? You ask. Because someone had to, not because I wanted to. I wanted to be resting by a pool in Orlais, having my feet rubbed and being fed grapes in a spa."

Dorian paced leisurely to a table filled with flower cuttings and powders being made. He toyed with a sprig of embrium. "The question is not whether or not we should risk our lives, you know. I have a better question. Why is it you feel you are unworthy to be saved?"

"What?" Falon went still as a statue of Andraste, though not nearly as serene. She looked at Cullen as though Dorian had lost his mind.

"No," Cullen told her. "I'm interested in this question as well. Why should I not risk my life for you, Falon? It's my life. Surely I'm entitled to choose how I spend it."

"This is absurd."

"Is it?" Dorian asked her with a slight smile teasing beneath his mustache. "Is it absurd to love someone enough to fight for them or to die for them if one must?"

"It is absurd to make my fear for your lives out to be all about me."

"Is it?"

Cullen raised his head to look at her- to really look at her. Dorian was right. He'd missed something. He'd missed a key part of what made Falon Falon. "No one ever fought for you. There was no one to fight for you, and you learned early that you had to be useful to be part of a whole."

"No," she started to protest, but her face told a different story. She wore anguish like a cloak as she turned to pick up the book she'd dropped earlier.

"Right, because even that wasn't enough was it. In the alienage- you mentioned that before- you were accepted in Kirkwall."

She laughed down at the book in her hand. "Accepted. Tolerated."

They were the same thing to her. As much as she could expect, he realized. "How young were you orphaned, Falon? You never speak of it."

She cut her eyes his way, then carefully placed the book back on the shelf. "I don't know when I was orphaned. No one knew where I came from at first. The orphanage wasn't so bad. I went to school with everyone else. It wasn't until the magic... Why are we even discussing this again?"

"Oh, it's important, darling," Dorian answered. "But, I think, Commander, that you have it from here?"

"Just so, Dorian."

Dorian met his eyes and nodded then left closing the door behind him.

"It wasn't until the magic showed itself that the life you had changed. Is that correct?"

She turned toward him, angry and tired. It was written plainly for all to see. Angry and tired. "Yes. Is that what you want to hear? Yes, the magic made me a danger. The first time I used it, I knew. Lahna. She loved to tease us all. Oh, she had a vicious tongue. I knocked her down. There was blood on the ground, a lot of it. She lived but barely."

He watched her as she paced saying nothing for fear she'd stop talking. "The Hahren told me I had to go to a special place for mages, that I'd be no danger there." She laughed without mirth. "I think I was only about ten years at the time, but I wasn't a fool. Children listen. I knew the circles were a jail for mages, more to keep them from others than a safe place to practice magic, and I knew I deserved it after what I'd done. But I was afraid. I ran and lived in the woods until I'd learned to control it as much as I could."

"You taught yourself to suppress your own magic?" Cullen couldn't believe a child capable. "Surely someone helped you."

Fear touched Falon's features. Stark fear; as if she stood on a precipice. "Someone did. I slipped in and out of the Fade in my dreams. It was the one thing I couldn't control."

Cullen inhaled. "A child in the Fade?"

"I was taught by a spirit."

He stared a long moment waiting for more.

"Solas believed it to be a spirit of mercy."

Gritting his teeth, he said, "Solas knew."

Anger sparked in her again. He sensed it because her eyes snapped like lightning once more. "Yes, Solas knew, Cullen. I'm sure Solas knew many things you did not. He knew who and what he was, knew what he planned to do to us all. He knew I was vulnerable and attractive to spirits because we met in the Fade just after I arrived. He pretended to concern he clearly didn't feel, but, at least, it was a helpful pretense. He taught me to hide in the Fade. I don't know why it stopped working. Tomas' doing, I imagine, but I haven't discovered how."

She walked over to her desk and sat down. From a bottom drawer, she removed an amulet. "He gave me this, but I haven't trusted him enough to wear it since we learned who he was."

Another betrayal for her, he realized. They'd been so focused on the aftermath of Solas' revelations that they'd forgotten the rest of it. He left behind a wasteland of broken friendships. Of course, Falon would be one of them. They'd had so much in common.

"That spirit from the Fade that everyone fears so was more my friend than anyone in my life. She watched over me and cared for me. She loved me without reservation and accepted my magic because it was just part of her world. Solas understood that, at least. Perhaps too well."

"I don't understand why you hid this." Cullen felt the words choke in his throat. "I do, but, after we... I don't understand why you hid it once you knew I loved you. Why wouldn't you tell me this?"

She appeared incredulous at his statement. "You were tortured by demons, abominations. You were a Templar. I see the danger that I am. How could you not see me as dangerous? I wanted to finish my work."

Cullen felt each painful word to his soul. The revelation hit him. "You think yourself evil, don't you?"

She cast her eyes away but didn't deny the charge.

He walked around the desk and knelt by her side. "Once I saw magic as evil or something to be closely guarded, at least. Then, I met the Inquisitor and saw mages as something quite different. The same power that I watched destroy a circle of magi could be wielded by a savior. That changed my view for the better, I think, and then I met you."

He took her hand where it rested on the desk. "You changed everything. Any evil a man carries is in his heart, Falon. It's in his soul, not in magic. I know this to be true because I have known you." He brought her palm to his lips and kissed it. She began to glow, and he smiled at the soft light. "Lovely. Even your magic feels like love, Falon. Everything you do is love. There is no evil in you." He kissed her hand again.

"You care for everyone around you. Let me care for you sometimes. Let me in, please. You've been my hope, my light. Don't leave me in the dark after all of this is over."

Her soft sob made him turn his head to see her sweet face fold into tears. Her wild, dark curls fell loose from her bun as was its habit. She shook with her sorrow, forcing him to pull her into his arms. After her illness, she was underweight and wilted. He turned with her to sit in the chair and held her in his lap as she cried.

"We all need you, darling. That won't change."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter for Falon and Cullen. It's very fluffy. LOL
> 
> The plot isn't finished, however, there will another installment for Sergent Timmons. Illusion will be dealt with.

Illusion had escaped entirely. That was the news Cullen had brought her that morning before she left for the tower. As she worked in the tower garden in the weak sunshine, her thoughts were consumed by the thought of it.  
The top of the mage tower was accessible currently only by a ladder and hatchway. The youngest and fittest of the mages pulled garden duty, and it was a required service. Everyone must help, but Falon enjoyed it usually.   
Falon had volunteered this morning because she couldn’t take anymore pitying looks from Jane or side glances from Cullen. She needed to feel able, and quite possibly to be alone.   
Once she finished harvesting the elfroot, she tossed the bag through the hatch and descended the ladder. “All done,” El said.   
Surprised to see the Inquisitor, Falon nodded. “I’m due in the clinic next.”  
“As am I, or nearby. Walk with me.”  
Falon delivered the elfroot to the new potion master and walked beside El as she slowly marched the battlements as if she belonged to them, and it was possible she did. Skyhold suited her like custom armor. Seemed to accept her as its own. Inquisitor Lavellan was Skyhold.   
Eliana took her time and finally stopped to stare out over the mountains surrounding them. “How have you been?”  
“You mean since…?” At the other woman’s nod, she continued, “ To be honest, I have no idea. There’s a demon walking around in the world obsessing over my power. How is that supposed to make one feel?” She paused a good while before rushing to her next point. “I’ve hurt Cullen.”  
“Why do you think that?” El seemed truly perplexed.   
“El, he’s guarding me. All the time. He’s wary and alert even in our tower alone. He’s afraid. I’ve never seen him afraid.”  
“He is afraid, Falon. Every soldier is who has something to lose.”  
“Even you?”  
Eliana looked wistfully out on the clouds. “Once upon a time.”  
“I miss him, too.”  
El smiled at her. “He told me once of your walks in the Fade. He thought very highly of you, Falon. I believe he saw you as a friend.”  
“That isn’t possible.”  
El turned to Falon. “What do you mean?”  
“I will always be grateful to him for the time that I believed us to be friends, but, El, I cannot get past the fact that he lied, came here meaning to do harm. Yet, I trusted him so completely. Solas abandoned me to my fate like countless others before him. It wasn’t even very original. Well, except for the part where he tears down the veil. That’s new.” Falon shook her head. “That night… after your surgery, I sat by your bedside and wept for both of us, El. He was my teacher, my friend, but he was so much more to you. It’s wrong.”  
“So you do understand how Cullen feels?”  
Falon met El’s gaze. “How Cullen feels?”  
“You intended to leave him, to become tranquil. You would have destroyed everything in his world that he loves and admires out of fear. He’s angry, but he won’t always be. In the meantime, he’s also afraid that you’ll follow through. He sees keeping you safe as something he can do to prevent that.”  
“He is most angry at Cassandra, and I don’t know how to fix that.”  
“That one they have to slug out with each other. She should have told him, I think. I believe she would have before she did what you asked, however, they are adults in almost every respect and good friends.” She smiled at the small joke. “They’ll get through this as they have everything else.”  
“And how is that?”  
“Eventually, they’ll fight about it. Cullen can only sulk for so long. You know this better than anyone.”   
Falon laughed at that. As her laughter faded away, she thought once more of Solas. “Will he ever come back, El?”  
Eliana reached out for Falon’s hand. “I do not doubt I will see him again, but I’m very doubtful it will be in happy circumstances. Without the veil, I don’t know what this world would be. I am reasonably certain it would no longer be our world. He would regret my death, our deaths, Falon, but I’m not entirely convinced that would stop him. This begs the question: How can it really be love? Was it ever?”  
“Do you believe Cullen wonders that? Was it ever?”  
Startled, the Inquisitor turned her gaze on Falon. “No, the one thing he wouldn’t question is your love for him. Talk to him, Falon. Trust me. All he needs is to know you won’t disappear.”  
“Have we heard anything about the demon?”  
Eliana frowned. “We’ve heard a few disturbing reports from our agents in the Approach. Our patrols are checking it out. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”  
They began walking toward the clinic again. “El, if it ever comes down to it, promise me… promise me, you won’t let me hurt him.”  
“You won’t.”  
“I could. Promise me.”  
“I won’t let you hurt him,” she said solemnly. Falon nodded then headed into the clinic. She had a bit more research to go through. Scout Harding hadn’t known what was important, so she brought everything they found. Falon was still sorting through the Dwarven knowledge of ages past. References to lyrium stayed, and everything else went to Skyhold’s library   
Jane handled the few Templars who needed treatment as Falon buried herself in old texts and scrolls. Time passed before she knew it, and Falon looked up to see Cullen standing against a work table watching her. She hadn’t even noticed when everyone else left.  
She smiled at Cullen. “I lost track again.”  
“I know,” he told her softly. “I have your supper if you’re hungry.”  
The thought of food made her stomach twist. “I’m hungry.”  
“Good.”  
She left the books open where they were and reached for her cloak. Mountain air was always cold at night no matter the season. She slipped under his arm and he squeezed her close. “I think I found something.”   
Falon wanted to tell someone. “It might be nothing, but I think it’s a detailed description of the nature of lyrium. If I can understand how lyrium enhances magic, I could possibly gain clues on how to gradually reduce the effects. If I’m right, then it’s not actually the lyrium that’s addictive but the power it leaves behind. I don’t know how that helps us, but I think it must eventually.”  
“That sounds promising.”  
“Cullen,” she said softly. “Cullen, do you hate me?”  
“What?” His shock reassured her. “Hate you? Why would I hate you?”  
“Because of my plan to become tranquil. I know it hurt you.”  
He stopped her and placed his hands on her shoulders gently passing them over her cloak as they stood in the night air beneath the stars. “It did hurt… at first. Given time for reflection, I can see how you believed it to be the right thing to do. I can’t even say I wouldn’t have done it myself in your situation. I would do anything to keep you safe.” She sighed in relief and leaned into his chest.   
“I feared that I couldn’t do it. The idea of forgetting you was unbearable,” she whispered. He shushed her.  
Leaving one arm around her shoulder, Cullen steered her up the main steps and into the hold to seat her at one of the large tables. A tired footman stood nearby. Cullen asked the man to send Cook with their dinner and then dismiss the staff. “We’ll clear the meal, Sebastien.”   
“Are you certain, Commander?” He asked revealing his Orlesian origins as soon as he spoke.   
“Quite certain, Sebastien.”  
Cullen sat at the head of the table and grasped her hand in his as they awaited the serving maid. Once they had their dishes, Cullen thanked the girl and reiterated that they must all finish their work and go to bed.   
The fire spat as it burned lower. They both ate in companionable silence. It had been a long day. Cullen had finished his food and simply held her free hand, caressing the fingers and palm rhythmically until she was pleasantly relaxed.   
He waited until she had finished as well before bursting out with what was on his mind. “I’ve been thinking of leaving the Inquisition.”  
“What?” She nearly choked on her water. “You can’t leave. They need you.”  
“You need me, and I’ve been thinking you might be safer somewhere else. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so ready a target back home.”  
She started to reply but stopped cold. “You would take me home?”  
“I’ve given it a great deal of thought. There would be no reason to stop your research. Perhaps we could relocate the Templars with the most need.”  
“I’d be an apostate.” She gripped his hand tighter.   
Cullen’s mouth set in a stubborn slash. “That could be all to the good. You would be removed from circle life.”  
She shook her head. “Cullen, what is this really about?”  
He sighed. “I want to….”  
She finished for him, “Wrap me in cotton wool and stick me in the cupboard?”  
His smile seemed sad, but his laughing reply came as a resounding, “Yes, I do.”  
“Well, you can’t,” she told him. “It’s stuffy in the cupboard.” Her smile fell away slowly. “There’s been news, hasn’t there?”  
His grimace answered for him. “Why must you be so damned perceptive?”  
“It’s the byproduct of marrying an inscrutable man. Now, out with it. What has you worried?”  
“My men in the Approach and the Wastes have been encountering cultists. They talk of nothing but the power given them by the holy one. The worst of it is that it appears to be true. These blood mages seem to summon demons in much the way Tomas did here, but only when they reach the point of capture.”  
“Like a poison pill,” she murmured. “Fanatics. Yes, they would be very drawn to Illusion’s offer of power and his lies.”  
Cullen had the decency to look guilty. “Hence, cotton wool.”  
“The Approach seems a strange, lonely place for Illusion.”  
“It does. The Inquisitor wants to go herself.”  
“Oh, Cullen, no, she can’t. Not with her injury. She’s not ready to be fighting or traveling for that matter.”  
“I’ve already argued with her until I was blue. She insists.”  
Suspecting she already knew, Falon asked, “What did she say exactly?”  
“I received another very stern lecture about the cupboard. Honestly, I would never have believed elven women could be so stubborn.”  
She laughed at his consternation.   
“I love you terribly, Cullen Rutherford.” She felt his hand tighten on her own.   
His words dropped almost too low to hear. “I love you, Mrs. Rutherford.”  
She stood and they cleared the dishes. Lanterns had been left in the kitchen for them. “When I finish, would you haul the dishwater out to the slop?”  
“For her highness, of course,” he said with a slight bow that made Falon smile at him.   
She began to wash the dishes as they enjoyed the companionable silence between them. This was the part of their marriage that gave her hope. They should have everything against them, and many things were, but here, together, they were perfect, two comfortable friends turned lovers.   
Falon had topped the water off with the boil from the fire, so she ran a cloth through the tepid water in the tub thoughtfully. It was a regular task for her as she always had to clean empty medicine bottles, and she often lost herself in the motions of the mundane task. Or, she did until Cullen’s arms stole about her from behind.   
“You were too far away.”  
She laughed leaning her head back on his shoulder. “ What was it? Two meters?”  
“It was too far,” he said burying his nose in her hair. She shook her head causing him to ask, “What?”  
“You can’t be real, Cullen.” Wiping her hands, she turned in his arms. “You’ve made up for a lifetime of neglect in months. I’ve never felt this way.”  
He toyed with her hair at her nape. “Neither have I.”  
“Take this water to the barrel, so we can go to bed.”  
His slow smile was his answer as he pulled away to do her bidding.  
*  
Falon was sick again.   
Fear gripped her as she sat staring at the book in front of her. Would she ever feel this way and not wonder if it was a replay of the worst moments of her life? She rubbed between her brows where a headache was beginning.   
“Mistress Rutherford,” said the smooth patrician voice of her next patient.   
“Sergent Timmons,” she greeted him. “How are you feeling today?”  
“I suspect better than you are, Mistress. I can come back another day,” he offered.   
She stood quickly. “Nonsense, it’s only a headache, Timmons. Come in.”  
He closed the door behind himself. Falon quite liked the Sergent. He was older than one might expect for his rank, having seen at least thirty summers. As a second son, he’d been sickly and timid, according to him, but he’d been determined to be a Templar. By the time he’d improved enough, one of the officers had taken pity on a late bloomer.   
Timmons was a well-educated man. In a lot of ways, he reminded her of Cullen, but for his darker coloring and always ready smile. She directed him to the table she used for her examinations. It was sturdy enough to use as a surface for treatment, but she never usually had need. “How are the nightmares?”  
“Less. That last potion helped with sleeplessness. Very much.”  
She smiled. “That’s pleasing to hear. Any other concerns?”  
“Everything seems to be in working order. I’d like to continue the current course if it pleases you. This has been the best I’ve felt in years, mistress.”  
“Timmons, you know how to make a woman’s day.” She put her notes on the desk and walked to the cupboard where she kept the new mixtures. She took one down and turned to take it to the Sergent. However, she must have turned too quickly.   
She lost her balance grabbing onto a nearby chair back and the medicine slipped from her fingers to shatter across the stone. “Mistress,” Timmons called. He was by her side in a second and had her sitting in the chair. “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll clean that.”   
Concern radiated from him as he pulled a chair to sit facing her. “You’re tired.”  
Falon ran hands over her cheeks which had overheated, and she assured the man, “I’m fine. I never get dizzy, but things haven’t exactly been routine lately. I am probably overtired.”  
“I know it’s probably not my place to say, but my mum always said a woman who was breeding had a certain look to her.”  
“Oh, I’m not…,” she began then stopped in shock. “I’m not….Timmons?”  
“Yes, miss.”  
“Could you find Jane and have her come to me? I believe I have need of her.”  
“Of course, Mistress Falon.”   
She stood. “You mustn’t forget your potion. I think Jane is upstairs.”  
*  
That night she’d arranged to have supper delivered courtesy of a footman. She’d set the table upstairs and waited anxiously as she went over and over in her head how to say what she must say.  
She heard Cullen enter and begin to remove his outer gear. “Darling, you here?”  
“Up here, Cullen.”  
“I don’t suppose we have the hot water for a bath, Falon. Andraste’s breath, those recruits may end up in the mess before it’s over. I’m a mess.”  
“There’s a kettle on. We’d need water drawn.”  
He paused on the stairs. “That I can handle.” He went to the door to talk to the watch. Falon smiled at the suspicion that the aforementioned recruits were about to be taught a valuable lesson through hard work.   
Cullen returned smiling. “You look very nice, darling, and supper’s lovely. What’s the occasion?”  
“Let’s eat and I’ll tell you after your bath.”  
“All right,” he said cautiously.   
He really was a mess. He’d fallen from his horse at some point in the day, and his trouser hems were stiff with dried mud where the boots had been. She shuddered to think what those looked like. “Where are your boots?”  
“Timmons is leading the new lads in disciplinary duties.”  
She almost chuckled at the thought. He’d enjoy that.   
They ate and exchanged notes on the day as the poor weary recruits tromped up with bucket after bucket for the small fire. She began heating two kettles at once on the hearth Cullen had added for her.   
Steam rose from the tub after some time, and she helped him remove his filthy clothes, after placing the armor outside for the soldiers to deal with. Cullen was in the tub by the time she returned.   
The day had been overwhelming and Falon was exhausted. She had to tell him, but part of her wondered how he’d take it. As he smiled at her wearily from the water, content and relaxed, she hesitated.   
“You had quite the day, didn’t you?”  
He ducked under the water and pushed the water off his hair slicking the unruly curls down. “Demanding,” he said with a huff. “But it’s better now.”   
She watched him, broad-shouldered and more vital than any man she’d ever known. It had more to do with his being a soldier than anything else. The men under his command were the same, more aware of life and its fragility perhaps.  
Falon sat on the side of the bed and waited as Cullen washed away the day’s mud and toil. When he stepped out and wrapped the bath sheeting around his hips, he stared her down. “What’s wrong?”  
“Nothing is wrong, I just….” She bit her lower lip, and Cullen prowled toward her.   
“You look pale. Are you well?”  
Frustration welled within her, and she mumbled, “Fenedhis lasa, I’ll never leave the cupboard now.”  
“What’s this?” He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him.   
“I’m pregnant.”  
He stared at her. “You’re…?”  
“Baby. It’s… we’re having a baby.”  
“A baby,” he said as if the word were foreign to him.   
“Yes,” she snapped. “A small human. About this big.” She stretched her hands in front of her to illustrate.   
His hands fell to her shoulders. “Maker! Are you certain?”  
She nodded.   
He tugged her into his arms and held her so tightly she thought she might not have breath. “You’re happy?” He didn’t answer but buried his face in her hair.   
She felt, more than heard, a sound suspiciously like a sob as he held her. Just as she was going to ask again. He pulled back and set his lips against her temple. “I didn’t think to have this, Falon. I thought I would live and die in battle. I never thought….”  
She closed her eyes in her own relief and joy. He wanted this. They would survive anything so long as he wanted this. She felt such happiness she laughed through tears.   
“Remember you felt this way when your child sets fire to the roof. Or had you forgotten his mother’s a mage?”  
“I don’t care. We’ll build a new house. He can set fire to anything he wants.”  
She held onto him as if he was the only thing in the world because yesterday he had been.

**Author's Note:**

> This story of Falon Rutherford has been floating around in my head for a while. I wanted Cullen to get a different kind of happy ending.  
> I am new to this. Please message me with any corrections of lore you find. I might go off-book occasionally, but I'm not wanting to stray too far.


End file.
